


How they cheered (How I stared)

by provemlovely



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Almost everyone is mentioned, Also Combeferre and Courfeyrac are cute, Anastasia (the musical) au, Anastasia AU, Enjolras for once isn’t mean, Friends to Lovers, Grantaire isn’t sad for the most part he’s just confused, I don’t think it’s very graphic but just a lil warning, I’m not good at tags sorry, M/M, Mutual Pining, Petition to stop portraying Enjolras as rude cause he’s not, Piningjolras, Slow Burn, one character dies, secret nobility, Éponine is sad which makes me sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-09-23 19:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provemlovely/pseuds/provemlovely
Summary: R, at eighteen years old, can't remember anything before ten years ago. He's homeless and alone in the streets of St Petersburg."Together in Paris" Is his only hint to his past.It ends up being enough.-Or An Anastasia au((based off the musical version))





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey this is my first les mis fic :) 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at https://icarusislost.tumblr.com/ I post mostly les amis fanart

Luck. What a strange concept it is... though, it really shouldn’t be.

 

Is it not considered _luck_ to be born to a life of wealth? To be born to a loving family? A world in which you will never have to go hungry?

 

Grantaire would laugh now, just at the mere concept because _yes_ it would seem that it should be ‘luck’. By all factors, he should be considered be luckiest person alive.

 

Ah, but the world had shifted, and his life was thrown off course.

 

Because to be born in a different world, and grow up in another, well... that can’t end well can it? And can one ever truly miss something they never knew existed? 

 

There is a hole in his heart, aching for something he knows is there but can’t seem to find. It’s maddening, it’s scarring, to be searching constantly for _something_ that he can’t even see in his own dreams.  There is a missing piece in his brain, fighting to remember something he never knew happened at all. It hurts and he doesn’t know why. It hurts and it follows him.

 

Though, in the end, maybe there can be some closure in this destructive world.

 

-

 

 

 

 

"Ponine _no_ , tell me you're joking," Prince Grantaire stared at her accusingly, searching desperately for any hint of amusement in her eyes. He didn't find it. His heart was pounding, drumming in his ears, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. She was joking. She _had_ to be joking— but she only stared back, her expression stony. There was a slight frown in her brows, though, and her eyes were glassy. She was trying not to cry, he realized. Someone of the two had to be the strong one after all... and ‘Ponine had always been good at that sort of thing. 

 

Éponine is not a princess nor is she related to Grantaire in anyway, despite what many people had assumed. The two were inseparable either way, having grown up together in the too-large palace. The Thénardiers were old friends of the royal family and had been living in the castle for some work with the guards; yet, her parent's duties were “finished” rather suddenly, (Grantaire had no idea what work they did but he did try to catch what he could overhearing his parents’ conversations), so the Thénardiers were forced to leave and Eponine, Grantaire's best friend, was _leaving_ him.

 

He suddenly decides he hates the world and everything in it, because how _dare_ they take his only friend away from him. The world is cruel, it does nothing but take and _take_ —

 

"I have to leave, _you_ _know_ I don't want to," she hugged him so tightly he almost fell backwards, "My parents are going back to Paris, we have no business here anymore." She attempted a smile but it fell short of looking even the smallest bit genuine. Grantaire shook his head hard. His eyes stung and since when did it become so hard to _breathe_? 

 

He was so lonely in the palace, the only children there had always been his siblings and Éponine. She was all he had, his _only_ friend and she was leaving for reasons neither of them could fully understand.

 

"Why now? Why tell me now? In the middle of the ball, its supposed to be _fun_ and you-" He’s blinking back tears rapidly. _Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry now. Not now._

 

"Grantaire, _please_. One day—one day when you're old enough to travel on your own," Eponine reached behind her and pulled out a small round box from her dress pockets, "you will go to Paris and I will meet you _right_ there. Wherever you are, wherever I am, it won’t matter because you’ll find me in Paris... I heard it’s beautiful there, all the lights, all the music. I should think you would rather like it.” Her voice goes soft as she trails off, her eyes focused on the box in her small, freckled hands.

 

 

She drops the box to his own hand, watching silently as he gently ran his fingers along the textured patterns. It’s gold, a beautiful nature design flowering across the whole thing. The box opened suddenly, revealing a dancing king and queen and his breath hitched. The woman’s dress an elegant gold to match the man’s crown. They twirled in repetitive circles to a melody Grantaire had known all too well by now. He sniffed, he smiled.

 

 

"Together in Paris.." He repistemology, willing himself to believe it.

 

" _Yes_ , unless you somehow manage to find trouble along the way, who knows, maybe you’ll join in on a group of convicts,” she sighed, but smiled softly, "you never do seem to stay away from trouble."

 

"Ha ha. You’re hilarious, ‘Ponine," but he laughed, despite himself. "I'll miss you."

 

"I'll see you soon," she stresses, "now come- we're going to see how much trouble we can get into now without getting caught."

 

The two children stood up, smiling at each other for a moment. They’d be okay, it would only be for a couple years at most and then everything will be normal again. He’ll find her and everything will be whole again.

 

 

 

But then Grantaire heard a scream. Windows shattered all around. The stained glass now covered the floor as dancers and drinkers alike yelled and jumped away. The screams were piercing in the air around them and the music from a band in the corner stopped suddenly, hitting a sudden, sour note in surprise. Everything erupted into pure chaos.

 

Eponine's eyes widened and Grantaire grabbed her arm, he caught sight of his mother some distance away and ran, dragging Eponine behind him. His mother was safe, he’ll go to her and then they’ll be _safe_.

 

People were shouting. Both Guards and strangers had guns and were running. Gunshots were ringing in his ears. Who were these strangers? What did they _want_? Why are they _here_?

 

He couldn’t even hear his own voice when he called his mother’s name.

 

But then he heard someone in front of him yell:  _The Bolsheviks are attacking!_

 

 

   In the distance, Grantaire heard another shot. He stumbled in horror as his mother collapsed to the ground, his youngest sibling in her arms. They were both so still, it felt unreal. It happened so quickly that Grantaire didn't have time to think. He ignored the way his mother hadn’t even tried to get up. Ignored the choked off cry his younger brother made before they had both hit the cold ground. He tried to run towards them, tried to _help_ them; but then Éponine tugged on his arm and they were sprinting away again, in the opposite direction of his fallen family members. All he could think was that they’re dead. _They’re actually dead oh my god my mother’s dead._

 

Crowds of terrified citizens were bumping into them. He couldn’t recognize anybody. Somehow, though, Éponine seemed to know where to go.

 

They were just barely outside now, a train in the distance. It was snowy and cold and Grantaire couldn’t see a thing in front of him. He could just barely make out the colors and blurs of people running. While half were escaping the palace, others seemed to be rioting as they attempt to push _towards_ the palace. The snow was falling hard around them, heavily as if it was an attempt from any being above to protect them.

 

The Thénardiers were there, waving to the two children frantically. They held Éponine’s siblings in their arms, both of them safe. Grantaire pushed Eponine forward, she grasped into the handle and her parents helped to pull her up. She turned around with wide and frightened eyes, her arms held out desperately.

 

"Grab on!"

 

Grantaire blinked back tears and ran harder, he reached out a hand and barely grazed the metal bar. A hand grasped his and attempted to pull the young prince up. His foot was on the platform. He was safe, he was _safe_ - 

 

 

A gun shot.

 

 

Someone screamed.

 

  

An ineffable pain bursted through Grantaire's shoulder. He felt strangely warm all of a sudden. Numb.

 

Éponine’s brown eyes widened, but he couldn’t process it. Was she trying to tell him something? He shook his head, he didn’t understand and _oh_ , his grip on the hand loosened. 

  

He fell backwards, head hitting the hard concrete and pain was the only thing he could register before everything was dark. Silence. He was surrounded by silence. 

 

Peace. He can rest here now, surely. He feels warm, he feels safe. His breathing slows.

 

 

 

 

 

The young prince is buried underneath the heavy snow and chaos alike.


	2. chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras!! And Combeferre!! They’re here!!

"Did you hear General Montparnasse's speech this morning?" Combeferre gazed upward, over his glasses, and a look of disgust crossing his face briefly; an emotion he rarely allows himself to show. Enjolras would know, but he simply just watches as the man begins to bury his face in his hands, mumbling, "He's absolutely _ridiculous_." Combeferre stands up suddenly, tossing the newspaper to the side with a little more force than necessary. He's been like this for days, restless and angry and completely unsure what to do about it.

 

He grabbed his coat, tossing a red scarf to Enjolras, who catches, grabbing his hat from the floor and following Combeferre out the door wordlessly. He had learned long ago to keep his responses limited when Combeferre was particularly angry. It never ends well for either of them despite their close friendship. Enjolras preferred to observe and think first anyways, though he was often told that when he finally does speak up, the world stops to listen (an over exaggeration, in Enjolras' opinion, courtesy of their old friend Courfeyrac).

 

Enjolras and Combeferre lived in a room at the empty palace. The palace that was long abandoned and completely untouched, its only current purpose seemed to be collecting dust; but while the rest of the palace was still covered in cobwebs and dirt, they tried to keep this room clean. No one had tried to break in in years, they were safe there at least until someone found them. The thing was, no one ever came looking for them. So they stayed.

 

They walked along the streets trying not to bump into others as they did. Enjolras unsure as to where Combeferre was leading him but trusting him nonetheless. Neither of them had jobs, and more often than not they lost any potential jobs due to their "poor record." They get lucky, they make friends with the right people, and so they live; and that's how they survive, pure luck. Enjolras hated it. He hated feeling so useless, so unable to do anything without the help of someone else. He was sick of Petersburg (because he'd never allow himself to call it Leningrad).

 

The streets were completely filled with people at this hour, despite the cold snow and wind. On the faces of strangers, all Enjolras can see is desperation. The people are gossiping as they go, as it seems to be the closest source to any real news they can find these days. Imagine, the most reliable source coming from word from the streets.

 

The two boys were both starting to get tired of it. The town used to be so full of life, so carefree and happy. Now it was nothing but sadness and lost hope. The people are crying out and no one is listening.

 

Of course, that was before everything went to shit and now, the happy, blissful life they had lived seemed to be lifetimes away from where they are now.

 

Enjolras groans when his shoes sink into the ground and for a moment, snow falls into the top of the shoe. Combeferre only laughs quietly.

 

"They can call it Leningrad all they want," Enjolras muttered as they walked through the thick crowds of people, his shoe now very uncomfortably cold, "but the fancy name fools no one. _No one_."

 

"You're just mad at the snow."

 

"Fuck you," he glares.

 

Combeferre just hums in response, busy attempting to navigate as he walked around others. Enjolras jogs a bit to catch up.

 

"They keep telling us, 'everything is so much better! You have nothing to worry about!'" he's ranting now, "all they do is lie. They just lie because everyone is all still poor and they're still nearly dying of hunger." Combeferre turns to him with a small smile. That's the thing with Combeferre, he can be seething one moment but the next, as calm as anyone could be.

 

"You know I agree with you," 'Ferre added, pausing when a guard walked by, too close to say anything without him hearing, he sighs,"but if anyone else but me hears you say any of that again, you'll 'disappear' and I won't go looking for you." Enjolras snorted.

 

"Don't tell me what to do," He stopped suddenly pulling Combeferre to lean against a wall as a man and woman walked by slowly, mumbling. Combeffere raised an eyebrow but Enjolras brought a finger to his lips, shaking his head. This was how they got their news.

 

"I heard this morning, Prince Grantaire was alive," the woman whispered harshly, "his body was never found with the others, the Bolsheviks are hiding something from us. It has to be true— and there is a large reward for whoever finds him," she continued excitedly but still keeping her voice down, "Provided by Éponine herself!"

 

"That's _impossible_ , you can't go believing all those..."

 

The two had walked out of ear shot but the deed was done. Combeffere's eyes widened and he grinned. Enjolras suddenly felt uneasy.

 

"Éponine! In Paris all alone with Courfeyrac," Combeffere sighed, his eyes softening," I miss him too." Enjolras mumbled ' _maybe a little too much_ ," but Combeferre only pushed him causing him to stumble. Combeferre was a bully, truly.

 

Where Combeferre has met Éponine once, Enjolras had never met the girl, he grew up poor while she grew up wealthy. They had never crossed paths. Combeferre only knew her through their old friend, Coureyrac (of whom they haven't seen in years but they don't talk about that).

 

"Then we'll visit him," Enjolras tilted his chin up, a glint in his eyes.

 

"We don't have the money," Combeffere responded, weary. Enjolras waved him off, a grin on his face that seemed to be so rare on him nowadays.

 

"Of course not," Enjolras agreed, "but we'll find Prince Grantaire and take him to Paris. Can you imagine, Ferre? How much money? We can help feed empty stomachs again, even if just a little bit, even if it's just one person we can help _someone_." 'Ferre smiled sadly, and didn't think to remind Enjolras of what he already knew. Even if they left Petersburg, they would never be able to come back, no matter how much money that had. That was one thing he missed about Enjolras before everything became so bad; the boy had dreams and plans that could never possibly come to true, but he would always try. Where Combeferre found it inspiring, others found it to be tragic.

 

When Combeferre didn't respond, Enjolras sighed, gazing upward. The sky was grey, the sun never shined through. Not anymore, he thought bitterly. If they found Grantaire, they would have everything they ever wanted, (he knew that was a lie but it never hurt to believe)

 

But Combeferre would finally be with Courfeyrac again.

 

And Enjolras would finally have the money to make a difference, or _try_.

 

" _Okay_ ," Combeferre whispered finally, Enjolras looked up, surprise clear on his face. He did not expect that answer and honestly, it slightly worried him. "Okay, we'll do it, but how do you expect this to happen?"

 

"I have no idea," Enjolras responded honestly, he's still staring at his friend with wide eyes, "host auditions privately, see if anyone comes remotely close to him... it's.. it's for a good cause." He trailed off, looking to the side. Enjolras stuffed his cold hands in his coat pockets. He had given his only pair of gloves to a young girl earlier that day. Combeferre smiled softly at the memory.

 

"We'll start tomorrow," Combeferre put a hand on his shoulder.

 

Enjolras smiled, a real smile and Combeferre thought, _It'll all be worth it, even if it's just for that._

 

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

 

There was a loud _pop_  in the street and R screamed. His heart beating loudly in his ears and the ringing grew louder. It was cold and snowing and he was tired and hungry, but the noise had just set him off. He hated it, he hated how on edge he was but it sounded just so similar to....

 

No, now he’s just being dumb. R is tired and probably just being way too paranoid. He shakes his head, eyes blinking rapidly. He’s _fine_.

 

"Relax, it was only a truck backfiring," a smooth voice rang, and at the metaphorical window goes R’s attempt to calm himself down. His head shoots up, eyes wide and Montparnasse was there frowning; he swallowed. Yeah, definitely no calming down for him today. “Gunshots of the war will be no longer, we have no reason to fight anymore." There was a sickening smile on his face. He was lying, R knew, because they all had a vague idea about what was happening in the current rule and none of the rumors were particularly good. Nonetheless, R nodded slowly and his gaze shifted and he looked away. He knew who Montparnasse was, he had seen him before. The man looked too young, but had an almost sinister look. With sharp, long features and cold eyes. He was clean, like he took too much care into his appearance.

 

He was rich. He was the general. He was hated by many, and R was most definitely one of those people.

 

"Yes, sir, I know, I'm sorry-" He ran a hand through his curly hair. He’s already late to his job and _damn him_ if he’ll let a rich asshole like the General be the cause of him losing it. “Thank you, but I really must go-"

 

"What's your hurry?" the man stepped forward, R stepped back. Okay, so it looks like he’s gonna he here for a while. R briefly mourned his surely lost job as he stared at the man. He tries his hardest not to glare at him or he’d probably be killed on the spot and unemployment is, unfortunately, only a _slightly_ better option than death at the moment.

 

"My job.. I cant lose it," he stepped passed the man, nodding to him, "They're hard to come by." He paused but then spoke quickly," thank you." Before the General could say anything else, he took the opportunity to run to the market.

 

"Well.." Montparnasse sighed, “I will always be here, comrade." His dark eyes trailed after the retreating figure, disappearing into the crowds of people.

 

R didn't look back as he ran. Everyone knew General Montparnasse. He wasn't an idiot. R hated everything about him but the worst part was that the man believed in everything he did. Every dearth, every murder at his hands, every action his line of work took. He thought what he was doing was right. As if he was _helping_ them. As if they were _good_.

 

R stopped running when he saw what he was looking for. His job. His terrible job that paid next to nothing and always somehow smelled like rotting fish.

 

At least it had kept him alive; but he knew he couldn't keep living like this.

 

The owner of the shop is yelling at him in very fast Russian which meant R could only pick up the basis of what the old man was saying. How ironic that R knew nothing about his life before ten years ago but he would never understand how younger him seemed to speak three different languages only to never be able to pick up on fast Russian. And honestly, how the hell did he know how to speak _French_ fluently as a homeless kid in Petersburg? (He was very intrigued by young-himself, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but damn him for not becoming fluent enough in speaking his own _native language_ in his _own country_!)

 

So R just watched, dumbfounded as the owner yelled at him and picked up the words “incapable bastard” as well as “no longer your job” so he very confidently assumed he was being fired and left the store. Damn Montparnasse.

 

So he was fired that day for showing up, that’s just lovely. R decided that he officially hated everything (General Montparnasse included, the _asshole_ ) and ignored the fact that if he does not find a new job soon he will most definitely not survive the rest of the year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You don't even have black hair," Combeferre sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose. His voiced echoed loudly around the empty palace's walls and the exhaustion in his voice was evident. He was tired of this, he and Enjolras both were. They had gone through thirty two people so far and none of them were even close to passing as Prince Grantaire. It was going terribly, much worse than either of them thought it would.

 

He looked to Enjolras with raised eyebrows but the blond was slumped in his chair, his head leaning against the palm of his hand with a bored expression, his gaze fixated tiredly on the man on the stage. He was shaking his head and mumbled quietly ‘unbelievable’. Enjolras looked as tired as Combeferre felt.

 

"I can dye it!" the man, Babet, nodded enthusiastically and Enjolras suddenly sat up, leaning forward in his seat. This was the first time he has moved for the past five auditions. He was glaring now, his blue (almost grey) eyes narrowed accusingly. It was a threatening glare, one that people might not expect from a first glance at Enjolras who most often was thought to be charismatic, (because he was, truly, until you pissed him off at least.) The man swallowed taking a small step backwards. _Wise_ , Combeferre thought.

 

"Of course! Excuse my friend here, he truly can be an idiot sometimes," Enjolras said flatly, "because you're right. You can dye it! It's so easy!" He stood up now, walking around the table and towards the man, “because in just a bit more than a week no one, of course, will notice the blond in your hair. Or no one, for sure, will see the fact that instead of twenty years old you're what, forty five?" Enjolras laughed dryly, "Do you think we're idiots? Or better yet- do you believe Éponine wouldn't notice that you look nothing like her best friend? Get the fuck out of here."

 

Babet glared back, fuming, before leaving the palace quickly without a word.

 

"You didn't have to be so harsh," Combeferre finally broke the silence.

 

Enjolras hadn't moved.

 

"I don't think he's alive," he finally says quietly. And he looked so lost there, in the middle of an empty stage, staring at the back wall.

 

"You want to give up?" Combeferre knew his answer.

 

" _No_."

 

"Good, then we can continue tomorrow. That was the last one of the-" he stopped, standing up suddenly when they heard a loud crash. What they were doing was dangerous, and if any higher up found out about it, they’d be killed. They had to be so careful on getting the word out but with that, there was always the possibility of the wrong person finding out. Enjolras shot him a worried look and blew out the candle, the sunset's light now the only thing illuminating the large room.

 

Enjolras grabbed his hat from the table and ran to the hall, his footsteps quiet. He stepped out slowly and frowned.

 

A man- or boy (it was hard to tell when he was facing away) stood opposite from Enjolras, he was cursing quietly, picking up a candle stick that he must have bumped into which explained the noise. His clothes were not that of an officer, but of a poor man.

 

"Who the hell are you?" Enjolras' voice startled the boy, as he turned towards him quickly with a hand to his heart.

 

" _Jesus Christ_!"

 

"Not the answer I was looking for," Enjolras leaned against the door, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed him. Theman was small and he looked young. His hair was wild with messy dark curls, either brown or black Enjolras couldn’t tell. His eyes were an almost startling blue. The boy then tilted his head, obviously uncomfortable with Enjolras watching him. The blond’s eyes widen slightly, mouth parting, he almost looked like...

 

Enjolras stood up straight.

 

"Are you.. Enjolras?" The boy asked unsure, he looked worried and confused.

 

"Who’s asking?" Enjolras tried to remember, but he knows he hasn't seen this boy anywhere. The boy looks familiar but for a much different reason. His mind is racing.

 

"I've been told you have papers..." The boy looked down and then up again, meeting Enjolras' eyes. His eyes are so bright. The resemblance was alarmingly. "to Paris." The boy clarified. Enjolras almost laughed.

 

"That's true, actually," he mused, "but they're not for _you_." The boy frowned. Enjolras saw Combeferre come out the door, he shook his head at his curious look and turned back to the dark haired boy. "You see, I only have three tickets-" that, of course, was a lie. He and Combeferre had no tickets at all, at least not yet, but to advertise to the public, some improvising had to be done. “One for me, another for my friend Combeferre, and the last one.. obviously, for the lost Prince Grantaire."

 

But he didn’t have the reaction he expected.

 

The boy laughed, to Enjolras' bewilderment. He shook his had, still smiling. "Are you joking? You believe those rumors? God when that lady told me to go here she never mentioned what complete idiots you were." He looked to the ceiling shaking his head but stopped suddenly, his eyes held a strange look as he stared upward. Enjolras found himself looking up as well, confused. The ceiling of the theater was painted in intricate designs. It was a mixture of colors ranging from gold to blue to red. It was lovely, nothing he's ever seen before, but Enjolras didn't understand how that could catch someone's attention. It wasn't particularly interesting in any way.

 

"Why have I seen this before?" The boy whispered, Enjolras had to strain to hear it.

 

"This is the palace theater," Combeferre walked towards the boy, an unreadable look in his eyes, "Only the rich or royal have been here." Enjolras frowned when he realized what Combeferre was doing. Okay, so this was a thing they were doing now.

 

"What's your name," Enjolras asked suddenly.

 

"R," The boy supplied, looking bored, “Don't ask me what the rest of it is, that's literally mt entire name. Parents didn't love me enough to give me more than two whole letters, I guess."

 

"Where are they now?" Enjolras asked.

 

"Jesus, what's with the interview? I'm an orphan, they're probably dead I don’t fucking know."

 

An orphan. This was perfect. He was an _orphan_. An orphan! No one to remember him before, no one to call out their bluff.

 

"How badly do you want to go to Paris?” Combeferre didn't say it like a question.

 

"I'd do anything," R responded quietly.

 

"Has anyone ever told you how much you look like the lost Prince?" Enjolras walked towards him slowly. R laughed loudly at that, giving him an odd look.

 

"Can't say I've heard that before, no."

 

"You have the family eyes and wild hair," Combeferre added on. R stared at him incredulously, his arm reaching upward, touching his hair unconsciously.

 

"No. Stop it, seriously." He finally shook his head, "You two are actual _lunatics_ , I'll just be on my way!"

 

When he walked away Conbeferre tried to step forward, eyes wide, but Enjolras held his arm out to stop him.

 

No more than ten seconds later, the boy came back. His eyes are wide, hands raised, and mouth open.

 

"You want me to pretend?” So he’s heard about what they’re doing here after all.

 

"No," Combeferre said suddenly, Enjolras looked at him sharply. What is he doing. This is not part of their plan. “No, I believe you're him. I think you really are, and if you come you'll be in Paris. Paris with Éponine."

 

Enjolras wanted to yell at him. Of course this wasn't the young Prince. The Prince was _dead_.

 

Combeferre met his eyes, his face blank, but then Enjolras understood. R wouldn't come with them otherwise. He didn’t actively seek them for this and the man wasn’t going to play their game. Combeferre wanted to _lie_.

 

Enjolras deflated slightly and looked away. They were really doing this. Taking advantage of some orphan for what? Money? _This wasn't right_.

 

Enjolras shook his head, opened his mouth to say something, to stop this. To say anything that would stop this lie from continuing.

 

"What do you know about your past," he said instead. So stupid, so stupid.

 

" _God_ , I don't know, I was unconscious when the nurses found me one night, I shouldn't have even lived but I hit my head pretty hard and when I woke up I couldn't remember anything from before." R shook his head pointing a finger at the two boys, "I'm literally homeless, I'm not him. I just know I need to get to Paris."

 

"Well _we_ are your only way to Paris." Combeferre stepped forward. "If you are not him, and we’re wrong, then it's a simple mistake, but you will at least be in Paris."

 

R clenched his jaw as he looked away. Enjolras didn't dare interrupt them, he doesn’t even know what he could say; but he could tell R was thinking about it.

 

It was silent for a couple seconds or even minutes at least until R suddenly looked up, his eyes met theirs, a determined look on his face.

 

"What do I need to do."

 

Combeferre smiled and Enjolras felt sick. He should be happy, _why isn’t he happy about this?_

 

 _For the people_ , Enjolras reminded himself.


	3. chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How exactly am I supposed to become someone I forgot I was," R said lazily from where he was lying on the floor

"How exactly am I supposed to become someone I forgot I was," R said lazily from where he was lying on the floor, his arms spread out. Combeferre snorted and threw a book at him. It landed on R's stomach and he shot up into a sitting position, his nose scrunched as he glared at the taller boy.

 

"Not like that," Combeferre responded simply. R rolled his eyes.

 

R had stayed the night with them the first day, there was certainly enough room in the palace for the three of them so it hadn't mattered much but soon enough, a couple days later and he ended up not leaving, he had no home to get to anyways.

 

Enjolras had walked in the room then. He and Combeferre made eye contact, seemingly having a silent conversation when Enjolras shook his head and Combeferre sighed. He hadn't found any tickets.

 

"Where do you even go all day? It's not like you have a job," R raised his eyebrows at Enjolras who rolled his eyes.

 

"None of your business."

 

"So what, are you two like criminals or something."

 

"Sort of," Combeferre shrugged at the same time Enjolras said "Of course not." And there it was again, the silent conversation. R huffed a laugh and stood up.

 

 

"You should might as well teach me about him," R folded his arms and leaned against a wall. Combeferre's eyes lit up as he grinned. All he did was read and study, he's been preparing for this.

 

 

"Well, you were born by the sea," he started, "in a palace."

 

"By the sea, alright," R mused and nodded then muttered darkly, “rich people..”

 

 

"I think you had ridden horseback when you were three years old," Enjolras supplied and R's gaze shifted to him.

 

" _Me_? No way."

 

"What was the horses' name?" Enjolras asked Combeferre frowning.

 

"Romeo!"

 

"That's a horrible name," R laughed but Combeferre continued.

 

 

"You threw tantrums all the time and messed with the palace staff."

 

"Charming kid," Enjolras said dryly. R glared at him. Ever since the first day they would argue. Combeferre being the only buffer between the two. Enjolras sighed. It wasn't his fault.

 

He just felt bad. He knew this wasn't right. They were completely taking advantage of R but he didn't understand how Combeferre was fine with this. Why is it so easy for him and not me? How could he act so calm and nice to someone they're constantly lying to.

 

"You were extremely reckless and a handful. I believe the only time you ever listened was when your father glared at you," Combeferre laughed, "I heard he was very good at glaring."

 

"Sort of like someone I know!" R said with false enthusiasm when Enjolras rolled his eyes.

 

 

"You have to remember this stuff, R. This is your past," Enjolras emphasized and R grinned at him.

 

"I've been told I have amazing memory." Combeferre was the only one who laughed.

 

 

Enjolras left the room before they could start arguing.

 

 

 

\- - -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Head up! Shoulder back- oh my god we're doomed," Enjolras groaned and rubbed his hands over his eyes. They've been helping R for nearly weeks now, helping him with history and facts. For some reason Combeferre had the wonderful idea for Enjolras to be the one to help him with posture and the proper ways to act.

 

 

Enjolras had never hated R more than this moment.

 

"I'm not even walking yet!" R protested loudly from where he was standing.

 

"I can already tell you're going to do it wrong," Enjolras sighed, " _look_ , don't think of it as walking. Think of it as floating."

 

R opened his mouth to respond but closed it when Enjolras glared. He just fake smiled and began walking in a straight line.

 

"Am I floating yet?"

 

"Like a sinking boat," came his flat response, "okay stop! That was decent enough."

 

 

"Gee thanks." "Shut up oh my god."

 

 

Enjolras stood up and rubbed a hand through his hair. R was infuriating sometimes.

 

 

"When you greet her, you bow," Enjolras said tiredly. R did so and when he straightened up there was a lazy grin on his face, Enjolras mentally tried to prepare himself for whatever comment would come out of his mouth next.

 

"Have you ever bowed to someone, Enjolras?" He raised his eyebrows.

 

"I did, actually," he quickly added," _once_."

 

"Enjolras? Bowing to someone? I'm astonished," R held a hand to his heart," and who was lucky enough to have had that wonderful experience? Actually respecting someone of a higher status-"

 

"It doesn't matter, R,"Enjolras' voice hid any emotion that might have been there before, R's smile faltered. He pretended not to notice and turned to look when the door opened.

 

"All finished in here?" Combeferre asked with raised eyebrows.

 

 

Enjolras left the room first yet again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

\- - -

 

 

 

 

“I don’t understand why I have to practice eating,I eat like almost everyday,” R muttered.

 

 

"Elbows in, R," Combeferre reminded him at the same time Enjolras repeated, _almost?_ as if bewildered.

 

“-and please do not slurp the stroganoff." Ferre shook his head.

 

"I really hate stroganoff," R responded wearily looking at the food in front of him. Combeferre grinned.

 

"All that's left is the Samovar and Caviar."

 

"Then can I please finally sleep?" R looked up hopefully.

 

"Not until you do this correctly," Enjolras reminded him. R slumped in his chair. Attempting to send all his hate to Enjolras via glaring.

 

Enjolras gave him a fake smile and they continued.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

 

"I don't understand why he's teaching me if I'm literally doing it better than him," R huffed a laugh when Enjolras accidentally stepped on his foot again. Enjolras glared but he was so tired there wasn't much malice in it. R only grinned in response.

 

 

Combeferre smiled gently, "honestly- you both need to learn. I need to be able to watch you, R. To correct you."

 

They'd been dancing all day. Enjolras protested for as long as possible before Combeferre finally forced him. R laughed about it until he realized he'd never formally danced before.

 

He had been worried until they actually started. It was then they realized he was naturally a good dancer.

 

 

"Start over," Combeferre sighed. Enjolras' lips pressed into a thin line.

 

 

Then they were moving. This time smoother than before. They were both stepping in the right places, at the right times. R could feel Enjolras begin to relax and R grinned. They were finally in sync.

 

Combeferre smiled in the background as he watched.

 

R looked up. Enjolras' face began to look weary when R's grin turned more into a smirk.

 

Then R broke the pattern. He stepped back, but, before giving Enjolras the chance to let go, he grabbed his right arm and spun him. It startled a laugh out of Enjolras which only encouraged R.

 

They continued to dance like that. Complete with many more twirls and laughing. Enjolras finally relaxed and all of R's movements fluid. Combeferre watched amused, but didn't tell them to stop. It was the best they had danced all day.

 

When they ended, R pulled Enjolras into a hug without thinking, laughing as he did so. When Enjolras hugged him back, R was filled with warmth and... fondness... He heard Enjolras laugh into his shoulder, and it was....

 

R let go. Face flushed.

 

 

"Perfect!" Combeferre finally shouted. R swallowed and nodded slowly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Great grandmother?"

 

 

"Queen Victoria."

 

 

"Great-great grandmother?"

 

 

"Ah shit" ' _language_ , _R_.' "Um, Princess Victoria of... Saxe-Colburg-Saalfeld."

 

 

"Your best friend?"

 

 

"Éponine— what kind of stupid question is this. Did Enjolras write these?" ' _Oh_ _fuck_ _you_ _too_.'

 

 

"Youngest brother's name?"

 

 

"Antoine?"

 

 

" _Wrong_!" Combeferre tilted his chin. They had been practicing names and family members all day. Enjolras had helped out in the morning but left when he quickly got bored. He just recently had come back and was already laying tiredly on the chair looking as if he was about to fall asleep. "Your youngest brother's name?" Combeferre repeated with raised eyebrows.

 

 

R groaned loudly and pulled at his hair, "I know my younger brother's name!"

 

" _Someone_ has a temper," Enjolras muttered, his eyes closed.

 

"Well I guess that makes two of us!" R yelled. Enjolras' eyes opened at the tone and they glared at each other. Combeferre sighed.

 

"And continuing on-"

 

"Oh fuck this, Ive had it!" R stands up, "I hate both of you and I can't believe I even agreed to this. I mean, I'm only human I'm allowed to forget things! I'm leaving-" R frowned at his own outburst and turned to leave but Combeferre caught his arm.

 

"R, look. We're all scared here. You're just overwhelmed, count to ten, take a deep breath, and we'll continue just a little longer. You're a prince, you can do this." Combeferre's voice was calm and soothing.

 

R stared at him for a while longer before he glanced to Enjolras. The blond was sitting up now, his gaze no longer held anger but worry. R sighed and sat down.

 

 

"Now your Great Aunt's name?" Combeferre asked with a smile.

 

"Aunt Olga," R responded easily.

 

"Then there was your distant cousin, what was name? _Vanya_!" Enjolras added leaning forward," he was obsessed with vodka! Got that?"

 

"No?" R asked more than said, bewildered.

 

 

"Count Sergei-" Combeferre started.

 

"-wore a feathered hat" R finished with a grin.

 

 

"I hear he's gotten fat," Enjolras supplies rather unhelpfully. Combeferre and R both glare at him this time. Enjolras shrugs.

 

"I recall a yellow cat?" R asked, looking to Combeferre.

 

"Uh, yes. I don't remember telling you that."

 

 

R smiled, "Okay! So, Princess Victoria. Sergei had a feathered hat, the cousin drank, there's a yellow cat. Éponine's my friend, of course, Alexi is my youngest brother. The horse's name was Romeo. Please tell me that's all."

 

 

 

Combeferre's eyes widened as he cheered, he stood up grabbing R and spinning him before hugging him. R laughed loudly. "You've learned it all!"

 

 

 

 

Enjolras smiled.

 

 

<>

 

 

 

R was on his way to the palace. It was nighttime, he _knew_ he shouldn't be out.

 

 

He knew something was wrong when he saw General Montparnasse staring at him. He hasn't seen the General in months now, there's no way he had done something wrong for him to suddenly look for him. R slowed down when Montparnasse didn't move from where he was standing. He opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong-

 

Strong arms grab him and another reaches out to muffle his surprised yell. He struggles as he's being pulled away but quickly gave up when he realized they were officers. He shut his eyes praying Enjolras and Combeferre were safe at the palace. He opened them.

 

 

Montparnasse's eyes are still on him.

 

 

 

 

 

\- - -

 

 

 

 

 

 

R is sitting at a table. His hands tied behind him, he's faced forward, where the General is standing.

 

Kidnapping. Now that’s new.

 

 

"One has to be careful about these rumors," Montparnasse started, stepping forward, "one has to be careful about the things you say." R didn't respond, he looked at the man with a blank expression.

 

 

"I've heard about you," he continued," your.. friends.. holding these _auditions_. Auditions to find the lost prince. The _dead_ Prince.

 

"Do you know the consequences to these things? Do you realize what this could do you?" Then adding like an afterthought, "All three of you."

 

Montparnasse reaches a hand towards R and he watched it wearily as he gently placed it on his cheek. R frowned and quickly jerked away from him. The General drew his hand back.

 

"I remember my father leaving the house the night the royal family died, pistol at his side. Can you guess what happened next?" He stepped back and paced slowly around the room, "I heard the gunfire, the screams, I saw the people falling to the ground.

 

 

"But you know, I believe I recall the silence after the most of all." Montparnasse shifted his dark cold eyes to R's wide blue ones," My father _killed_ them. My mother didn't agree but I believe what he did was vital. It was necessary. I can't help but wonder, if I had the opportunity, would I do the same? Well, I'd like to believe that I would," The General said quietly.

 

R just stared at the floor.

 

 

"Are you done with your monologue?" R finally spoke up. He didn't dare move, however. He looked up, his eyes once again meeting the General's but he didn't let his fear show.

 

 

Montparnasse drew back. _His_ _eyes_.

 

 

"You have The Grantaire eyes," he whispered. R frowned when Montparnasse quickly began to untie his wrists.

 

"I'm letting you off with a warning," The General paused as he opened the door, "I want you and your friends to stop immediately, if I hear word of you continuing with your illusion... you better hope you're already dead when I find you again."

 

 

 

R runs out the door. He is only minutes away from the castle when he crashes into another body. He nearly falls to the ground before someone grabs him, pulling him upright. It isn't until he finds wide grey eyes that he realizes with relief it's Enjolras.

 

"Where were you?" Combeferre asked, worry evident in his frantic voice.

 

"I was..." R trailed off, pointing "Um. _Who_ _are_ _they_?"

 

Combeferre turns around quickly and curses.

 

 

"Aw 'Ferre is that really you? " a voice drawled.

 

"Brujon." Enjolras acknowledged. He stepped forward slightly, putting R behind him. R ignored the warm feeling in his gut.

 

"Ah _no_ _way_! The Pretty Boy too? This is great!" Another voice stepped in, this one was shorter, and when he smiled his front teeth were missing. He looked like a mad man.

 

"Ya know.. we have some.. debts we haven't exactly settled yet between us," Brujon said with a wicked grin.

 

"You're outnumbered," Combeferre's voice was steady.

 

"Oh we are? I hadn't noticed." A new voice added. This one looked like he hadn't slept in days and he had bright red hair. When looking at him, R almost felt sad for the dude. Enjolras glared at Combeferre but no one said anything when Short Guy's hand suddenly grabbed onto Enjolras' arm. The blond looked down at his arm with a look of pure disgust. R held his breath.

 

 

"Now who's this cutie all 'needin protecting?" Short Guy winks at R. Combeferre groans at that as if expecting what'll happen next.

 

 

 

Enjolras punches him.

 

 

 

R doesn't know what exactly happens after that but Combeferre immediately attacks Brujon and R is left with Sad Red Head.

 

"Look man, I don't even know you-" R tries to say but then Sad Red Head attempts to tackle him and R is left with no choice but to fight. The man nearly trips over himself and grabs onto R's arms as if to steady himself but R grabs his arms and shoves him to the ground. (It really wasn't that hard the poor guy looked so tired it was like he was going to collapse any second anyways.) He looked around to find Enjolras helping Combeferre up. Brujon nowhere to be seen and Short Guy unconscious on the floor. Ralmost feels bad for them and looks down at Sad Red Head who looked like he was about to get up to lunge at R but when he noticed his friends gone, he scrambled to his feet and ran.

 _Coward_.

 

"You all good, R?" Combeferre asked, touching his arm gently.

 

"Yeah I'm fine, he didn't really do anything," R shrugged then turned to glare at Enjolras," do you have any self preservation or are you really just that stupid? That guy was way bigger than you, honestly what is wrong with you." Enjolras gave him a bored look.

 

"I know how to fight, R."

 

R just sighed and turned away, "well let's get back to the palace."

 

 

 

<>

 

 

When they got back to the palace Combeferre had fallen asleep almost immediately. Leaving only Enjolras and R awake. Enjolras had gone inside the theater and R followed him wordlessly.

 

 

He found him sitting in one of the seats, staring at the empty stage. R sat next to him.

 

It was silent for a while.

 

"I've known you two for months and still don't know how you met or anything about you guys," R said quietly. Enjolras turned towards him for a moment and laughed quietly before facing the stage again.

 

"I met Combeferre when I was thirteen. He and.. Courfeyrac had already known each other. I bumped into them while I was running away from some shop owner, I can't really remember. They ended up helping me hide so the guy wouldn't get me arrested," he laughed a little sadly at the memory. R nodded, slouching a little in his chair. Despite Enjolras constantly reminding him to watch his posture he rarely listened. Combeferre had laughed when Enjolras would get frustrated over it, saying it's something the Prince would actually have done so it's fine.

 

"Why were you running?"

 

"I grew up running away from everything," Enjolras looked at R. "In the gutters and streets of the wonderful Petersburg. When you're a kid, all alone, and homeless, you have to grow up real quick. I had to sell stolen souvenirs constantly and _still_ never had enough to eat."

 

"What happened to your family?"

 

"My father was a revolutionary against the Bolsheviks," R gave a small snort at that but Enjolras ignored him,"my mother died before I could even remember her. My dad was killed when I was nine. From then on I had no one."

 

"I'm sorry," R said, his smile falling.

 

"You didn't do anything," Enjolras gave R a small but genuine smile, that was a good smile, one that made him look younger.

 

Enjolras was by no means a terrible looking person. He was truly the _opposite_. His hair was light golden and his eyes were incredibly bright. He had some freckles on his smooth skin that seemed to fit him perfectly. If R could compare him to anyone he’d call him a Greek god. 

 

Even with dirt on his face and hair in knots.

If R could draw right then he thinks he could draw him forever. ( _Purely_ _for_ _aesthetic_ _reasons only_ , _of_ _course_ )

But when he smiled.. when he smiled he looked angelic and it almost looked innocent.

 

"Hey- how old are you anyways?" R found himself asking. Enjolras raised his eyebrows, a little surprised by the question.

 

"I'm nineteen," He smiled at the odd question," Ferre's twenty one." Enjolras added. 

 

"And the prince?"

 

"He would have turned eighteen a couple months ago."

 

"We're all too young for this," R frowned, but huffed an amused laugh when Enjolras yawned," go to sleep, Enj."

 

 

"'M not tired..." he paused," We'll be in Paris by the end of the month," he said quietly before closing his eyes, he opened them to look at R," get ready to meet your best friend again." R nodded.

 

"I already have friends," he responded. Enjolras' grin was so wide and genuine it made R wonder why he didn't smile as often. Enjolras was so much calmer, almost nicer, when he was sleepy.

 

"Wait! I have something for you— kind of," Enjolras sat up and reached for his bag, he pulled something round out of it and handed it to R.

 

"I found it in the palace a while back, I believe it was the Prince's but I don't know what it is exactly. I can't open it," Enjolras explained.

 

R stared at it, spinning it in his hand slowly. His fingers grazed the cool metal gently before he felt small groove in it, he pressed on it before he knew what he was doing and suddenly it was open.

 

"A music box.." Enjolras breathed out.

 

Beautiful music started to play softly from the box, in the center, two figures spun dancing with one another. R frowned as he watched it. He knows this tune. From where?

 

He closed his eyes and when he opened them, the theater didn't feel so empty.

 

There were figures and dancers floating as they danced. They would grin and laugh as they spun and never stopped. He stood up from his seat. He heard a child laughing and turned around to see a young girl running towards him. She looked so familiar, she kept running right past him into the arms of a little boy.

 

Then the children were gone. R faced the stage again, the figures still spinning around him, continuing as if he wasn't there.

 

' _Enjolras_?' He called out. Nothing happened.

 

To R's left he could hear the children, to the right he could hear the music get louder.. and louder.. and louder..

 

 

It stopped and he opened his eyes.

 

 

The theater was empty, he had closed the music box. It took a while for his breathing to calm down and when he looked to his right, Enjolras was there. He was there wearing his large coat and brown hat that he never went without. There was dirt on his cheek and he was asleep in the chair.

 

R closed his eyes.

 

He'll be in Paris in less than a month, then he'll find whatever he's been looking for his whole life. A clue to his past, a clue to who he is.

 

For the first time in a while, he feels happy.


	4. chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character death in this chapter, it’s not very graphic but I just wanted to add a warning anyways 
> 
>  
> 
> I actually started writing this story with this chapter. I got the idea of a part of this dialogue and from there worked on the rest, this is the oldest piece of writing from this story and I think I wrote it more than a year ago

True to Enjolras' word, no more than a month later and they packed their (very few) items for a train ride to Paris. They were leaving for good, when they were gone there was no turning back.

 

 

It was hard to say goodbye to the palace.

 

 

The train station wasn't very crowded. The people who were there were quiet as they navigated through.

 

There was a young man in the front of the train cart, he was smiling brightly whenever people would walk in.

 

He had smooth dark skin and sharp features, his eyes were warm and soft. His hair was coiled and piled on top of his head in an intricate braid. His shirt was nice in the sense of expense however it was designed with flowers of all kinds and colors that didn't quite fit together. There was an open blank book in his lap, a pen in his hand. He looked far too young, like he was barely eighteen.

 

 

His name was Count Prouvaire.

 

 

Enjolras nudged R, beckoning him to board. R rolled his eyes at him, shoving him back lightly and Combeferre laughed when Enjolras scrunched his nose.

 

Combeferre held out his hand to take R's bags and raised his eyebrows when he realized it was only one.

 

"That's a lot of baggage you got there," he mused.

 

"It's just the one bag?" R tilted his head slightly and Enjolras huffed a small laugh.

 

"He meant emotional," he deadpanned and R whistled, a smirk on his face.

 

"Wow, you must have so many friends."

 

"Believe it or not, having friends is not my number one priority right now," Enjolras glared at R and ignored Combeferre who was trying his hardest not to laugh.

 

"Oh no I believe it," R nodded solemnly and walked passed him, stepping onto the train.

 

Enjolras stood still for a moment, watching his retreating back with a small smile on his face, shaking his head slowly. When Combeferre caught his eye with raised eyebrows, Enjolras' smile quickly faded and he stepped aboard.

 

"So are you two just really weird best friends or not so hateful enemies?" Combeferre asked nonchalantly. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

 

 

"Oh dear!" Prouvaire's eyes lit up when he finally saw R, he smiled and stood up suddenly, he dipped his head as if in a small bow," _you_ _look_ _just_ _like_ _him_." He said the last part quietly, eyes darting nervously as if someone was eavesdropping.

 

"Like who?" R frowned.

 

"Prince Grantaire," he whispered with large smile, "you may call me Jehan, I am a poet."

 

"Pleasure to meet you," Enjolras responded when R didn't," I'm Enjolras, this is Combeferre and R." He then nodded politely at Jehan when Combeferre shook his hand.

 

R stood still, eyes wide until once again Enjolras nudged him to move. R swallowed, blinked, then moved slowly to sit down. 

 

 

People piled in rather quickly after that. Everyone seemed poor and tired, as if they could barely afford the tickets but by some miracle escaped. Jehan stayed towards the front, greeting the newcomers.

 

 

When the train started, Jehan started humming. It was a slow tune, and a rather sad one. It was melancholy, to match the singer. He was staring out the window. His dark eyes fixed on the trees and buildings starting to pass by.

 

"I feel as if I am betraying my home by saying I do not know if I will miss it," he said calmly, "I will miss the trees, the waterfalls, the beautiful sky." R felt Enjolras tense beside him.

 

"I will miss my family," a man added nearby, he sniffed," I wish they never fell ill."

 

"Don't forget the flowers in the summertime," a woman added from the back. Jehan smiled sadly. His eyes were fresh with not yet fallen tears.

 

R looked sideways, out the window however Enjolras was to the right of him. R frowned. Enjolras' own eyes appeared red and glassy. It was true Enjolras had warmed up to R more since they met but it was still rare to get a real laugh out of him let alone a look of pure... _sadness_.

 

 

 

"I thought you hated it there," R whispered. Enjolras looked at him in surprise and shrugged, looking forward.

 

 

"I am finally breaking free from that place—" he paused, "- but that place practically  _raised_ me."

 

 

R nodded looking forward. He didn't remember his past. He had been told he got sick one winter and nearly died, hitting his head as he crumpled to the ground and when he woke up he had forgotten who he was. He didn't have a childhood, he didn't know his parents, he didn't know if he had a family or siblings or friends. But Enjolras and Combeferre.. they had something to remember. They had a past to leave behind. They weren't running away from it, _no_ , they were walking to a new future, an _opportunity_.

 

 

Jehan started humming again. A woman let out a small cry nearby and soon she joined him. Tears fell from her cheeks wiping dirt off as they trailed down. R wouldn't have payed much attention to it if he didn't notice Combeferre wipe a tear from his eye. He looked to Enjolras questioningly. Even Enjolras was frowning, looking down.

 

 

"What song is this?"

 

 

"An old Russian lullaby," he responded then gave a small but sad smile," you know it was said to be Prince Grantaire's favorite."

 

 

"It is rather depressing," R whispered. 

 

 

"He fell in love with the melody before he learned the words," Enjolras explained quietly.

 

"How do you know so much about him?"

 

"About _you_ ," Enjolras corrected and looked out the window.

 

"You're avoiding the question."

 

"Because it doesn't matter," he warned. R sighed.

 

"Do you really think I'm him?" R asked quietly. Enjolras looked at him for a while before his lips pressed to a thin line.

 

"Of course." Enjolras didn't know whether or not he was lying.

 

 

"You're going to miss Petersburg," R stated. Enjolras sighed.

 

 

"It's the worst feeling to grow so attached to and love something you know is so bad for you," the blond frowned, eyes unwavering as they looked outside. R nodded slowly.

 

 

"It truly is," he agreed staring at the blonde. He finally turned away.

 

Hours into the train ride found Enjolras asleep, leaning against the window. Soft curly blond hair pressed against the cool glass. R was still next to him, wringing his hands nervously.

 

Combeferre sat to the left of R.

 

He looked the most anxious. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hand over them before sighing and leaning back. R looked over at him with worry before he frowned.

 

"Hey so... who's this.. _Courf_ you guys always talk about? I've asked Enjolras but he..." Enjolras had usually avoided the question completely or answered it in short responses that sometimes didn’t add up together. 

 

" _Courfeyrac_." He echoed quietly. R could have sighed with relief at the response, proof that Combeferre isn't currently absolutely dead to the world." And he doesn't like talking about him too much, not anymore. In the beginning, they were a lot closer than I was with him. We both really miss him through, his family had a similar job as Éponine's... they were friends but four years ago she asked for him back in Paris... _so_ _he_ _left_."

 

"You liked him," R said calmly. He ignored the way Combeferre's dark skin reddened at that.

 

"I loved him," he corrected with a shaky breath," and the worst part is that he loved me too."

R didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. Four years was recent- what could have happened? 

"So you two 'broke up' because he had to leave?" R frowned, confused," surely when you get back he'll be there waiting for you." R trailed off at Combeferre shaking his head.

 

" _No_ \- no, that's the thing. It's my fault," he looked pained," He didn't have to leave. He didn't even want to originally... but I convinced him to, I acted indifferent- I was scared. We fought and... he left. He was so mad. Enjolras didn't even talk to me for a whole week—"

 

"It wasn't your fault, Ferre," a voice finally said. R jumped and turned to see Enjolras begin to sit up. He rubbed his eyes, probably having just woken up but had heard just enough apparently, "Courf would never in a million years fall in love with anyone else."

 

"It's been years," Combeferre tries but Enjolras cuts him off with a snort.

 

"Calm down, okay? We'll go to Paris... and then we'll just go from there."

 

R smiled slightly at his words and leaned back in his seat. Enjolras seemed to only calm down Ferre a little bit, but it did keep him quiet.

 

However R was in no position to make fun of Ferre, because he himself was having his own dilemma. His hands are shaking, his heart pounding in his chest. The train ride felt like it had been days already, not hours. He's a mess.

 

He's a royal.... mess.

 

R buried his face in his hands shaking his head. He looked ahead, catching sight of Enjolras from the corner of his eye looking at him. R offered him a (not so reassuring) smile.

 

He started to wonder why the hell he agreed to this. Even if he was the Prince, how could they honestly go through with this? 

 

But this is the only chance he's got to find out about his last. This is how he can find the missing puzzle peice of his life.

 

All of them were faking it though, weren't they.

 

With Combeferre's eyes tightly closed. R's shaking hands. Enjolras' face with a look of guilt.

 

No one knows what's next, but when they get arrive..

 

R sighs and finally closes his tired eyes.

 

then they'll just go from there.

 

 

 

 

He woke up suddenly to the sound of yelling.

 

His eyes opened and he blinked black blurriness, attempting to make sense of the situation. He heard Combeferre muttering to Enjolras quickly, just barely over the sound of...

 

Jehan's voice.

 

 

 

R looked towards the front of the train.

 

 

"You don't have a ticket."

 

 

"I _assure_ you I do! I must have lost it-" Jehan's voice became only slightly frantic as he pretended to search his bag. It was obvious that he had been lying. Half the men and women on this train had boarded illegally. The poet included.

 

Jehan was just the one to get caught.

 

"I need you to come with me." The officer gestured, his face stony and dark. Jehan paled, his eyes trained on the floor. The train cart was silent, everyone watching now with fear evident in their palpable silence. Enjolras moved as if to stand up but R grabbed his arm to hold him down.

 

There was nowhere else to go on the train but out. Under R's grip, he could feel Enjolras shaking. With either rage or fear he didn’t know and couldn’t ask.

 

"I will not repeat myself. I need you to come with me." The officer's voice got louder and angrier. Jehan looked up. His eyes were wide. _He's_ _only_ _seventeen_. R felt sick. The officer put a hand on his own waist, _is_ _that_...?

 

The boy stood up. 

 

 _A_ _gun_.

 

Jehan was barely on his feet before the gunshot rang loud.

 

 

His body crumpled to the ground as the people gasped or cried out by instinct.

 

R was crying before he realized he couldn't even breathe.

 

How recently has he heard that noise? _The_ _truck_ _backfiring_. There is no truck. There is no truck _not_ _here_. That was gun. That was a gunshot. _The_ _screams_. _The_ _bodies_. Falling to the ground. _The_ _fear_ _in_ _their_ _eyes_.

 

 _Dead_.

 _Dead_.

 _Dead_.

 _Dead_.

 

 

He gasped and the first thing he could focus on was Enjolras' wide and terrified eyes before he saw the officer turn to look straight at them.

 

They made eye contact.

 

Combeferre cursed under his breath when the recognition was evident in the officers eyes.

 

Combeferre grabs Enjolras by the sleeve of his jacket and jumps into action. He's practically sprinting, tugging the pair behind him. Anything to get them out.

 

" _Stop_! Criminals!"

 

R felt a hand grip the back of his shirt and he yelled. _So_ _familiar_. _Cold_. _Snow_. _Guns_. _The_ _fall_.

 

 _The_ _fall_?

 

 _He_ _fell?_

 

 _From_ _where?_

 

No.

 

They're falling now.

 

 

Before he knew it, they were jumping of the moving train. Landing in a pile of snow. It hurt like hell but R couldn't feel anything at all. How could he feel the sharp pain in his legs when he can't even breathe?

 

"R? R listen to me. You're fine. Just breathe. Just breathe- you're fine. We're here we're safe" He could hear Enjolras distantly before he looked up. He looked scared. _Why does he look so scared?_  R looked around. Combeferre was standing up slowly, watching as the train rolled away in the distance. He loosened the death grip he didn't realize he held on Enjolras' hand.

 

"I'm sorry," he choked out.

 

"Me too, R. Me too," Enjolras shook his head.

 

Combeferre wipes his teary eyes and took a shaky breath; "well, what are we waiting for? We have a long ways to travel." His voice was quiet and melancholy.

 

Just like the boy who hadn't deserved to die.

 

The three continued on.

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

“Javert, sir?” Montparnasse stepped into the man’s office slowly- almost unsurely.The room was dark and gloomy, the only light came through from a small slit from the drawn curtains. Montparnasse took a deep breath when Javert met his eyes.

 

The man was like a dog. His eyes held a coldness only a certain emptiness can bring. He followed rules like a pet and attacked like an animal. He was ruthless. He was lost.

 

Montparnasse swallowed.

 

“They got away.”

 

“May I ask who?” But Montparnasse knew the answer already. Javert wasn’t fooled, he leaned back in his chair silently.

 

“ _You_ let them get away,” He says in a warning tone.

 

“Sir, if I may add, I hadn’t been in duty when it occurred-“

 

“I want them dead.”

 

Montparnasse faltered. He looked up, eyes wide but Javert showed no emotion in his face. All he saw was determination. He can’t argue with him.

 

“ _I’m_ _sorry_?”

 

“You will find the three _boys_ and you will kill each of them,” Javert stood up and strode to the door, only hesitating when he grabbed the handle,” of you cannot manage that.. then you can imagine what will happen to you next.”

 

 

Javert left the room.

 

Montparnasse stared at the door unmoving.

 

 

Could he kill them? Yes. _No_. He shook his head.

 

He had the chance to kill them. All three of them. The oldest boy, that terrible blond, and R.... who claims to be Grantaire.

 

But he let him go. All because of his _eyes_.

 

His eyes. His beautiful eyes.

 

But he believes he’s the lost prince Grantaire. Except does he truly? How can he believe his own lie?

 

 _He_ _needs_ _you_ , Montparnasse thought,  _he needs your help but he doesn’t know it_.

 

How can he kill such a boy? Such a clueless boy.

 

Yet he’s hiding something. He seems so innocent until he had looked him in the eyes. He had the Grantaire eyes..

 

He felt something pull in his chest. He can’t allow this- these feelings. Placing his hand in front of his heart, Montparnasse shut his eyes tightly before opening them.

 

He glared at the door.

 

He _will_ follow his orders.

 

 

 _But_ _still_...


	5. chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R can’t sleep. He meets a kind group of strangers.

R was restless. He didn't know what time it was but he couldn't sleep for anything. Sighing, he sat up.

 

He didn't want to think anymore; his thoughts wouldn't stop swirling around his head. He could hardly focus on anything else.

 

His life was so unclear before. Yet even now he felt less in control than ever before. His future was so uncertain, it hurts his brain to think about.

 

They weren't too far from Paris now. They had walked for hours and hours on end, taking minimal breaks and minimal time for sleep. Combeferre was snoring softly against a wall and Enjolras quietly curled on the cold hard ground.

 

R shook his head slowly and stood. He needed to walk around or- _something_ , anything.

 

They couldn't afford a hotel, and especially at this late in the night. Combeferre insisted they'd only sleep for a few hours and be off again but R couldn't find it in himself to wake the two up. The sidewalk floor was disgusting but they were all exhausted.

 

 

He only slowed down from his walk when he heard loud, boisterous laughter from an alley way. R frowned before seeing three people, practically hanging on each other, walk out. The man in the middle, seemingly drunk, was hanging onto a smaller man ad well as a laughing woman. The three were speaking French; a language R knew fluently but hadn't used in years other than short and snide comments with Enjolras that they didn't want eavesdroppers to hear.

 

"Bousset, please, I can't hold both you and this cane!" The smaller man giggled and pushed the man away. R realized the boy did indeed have a wooden cane by his side, limping only a little.

 

"Oh don't tell me you'll go off and have an affair with that wooden thing," the man called Bousset shook his head in mock sadness, he turns towards the woman," I'm afraid it's just us two now."

 

And then the three were laughing again. R felt like he was intruding. Turning to go back from where he came he heard the laughing stop suddenly when the woman shouted.

 

" _Hey_ , you!" R turned slowly, question written on his face.

 

"I've seen you before!" The girl said dragging her- friends?- over to him. She grinned, "I know I have—what's your name?"

 

"R," he said warily. The girl's amused expression turned into a slight frown, she tilted her head.

 

"That's all?"

 

"That's all."

 

"Huh," she stared at him a moment longer before nodding. She held out a hand," alright, I'm Musichetta, these lovely boys are Joly and Bousset."

 

"Hello," The smaller one- Joly- smiled. Bousset grinned and shook his hand.

 

"What are you doing walking all alone?" Musichetta asked. R sighed.

 

"I don't know- just can't sleep I guess. I should probably be getting back though-"

 

 

" _Tea_!" Joly blurted out. All three pairs of eyes stared at him blankly, "Sorry- tea uh, helps you sleep."

 

"Oh no it's fine I'll just go-"

 

"I know a café that's open nearly all night," Bousset cut R off and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "come on."

 

 

R wasn't sure what exactly was happening. He had never been so friendly with strangers. Back home he'd always been ignored and he'd always ignore others in return. That's how it worked over there. Yet these three people were laughing and talking to him like they've known him for years, all while leading him to a small café.

 

"They can't get much business," R wondered allowed.

 

"Ah but you'd be surprised by the amount of people who walk the streets alone at night and find themselves at this lovely place," Musichetta mused as she opened the door.

 

The inside was devoid of people, yet it still felt comfortable and warm. It seemed surreal to be there; like reality was completely altered.

 

Bousset ran towards the front of the shop and whistled loudly. R cringed slightly when he heard it yet Musichetta and Joly only smiled knowingly.

 

Finally a woman came from behind a door, she frowned, looking Bousset up and down before grinning.

 

"You haven't visited in forever! I was getting worried," the girl hugged all three of them before freezing in front of R. "I feel like I know you?" She phrased it more as a question. R shrunk back a little under her gaze.

 

"Right!" Musichetta nodded her head before smiling," this is R and we only met him just ten minutes ago. R, this is Floréal."

 

Floréal was small, even smaller than R. Her hair was long and a dark blonde, her eyes green and calculating. She frowned at him for a moment before shaking his hand.

 

She reminded him a little of Enjolras.

 

She was terrifying.

 

 

"If you make us tea we'll love you forever," Joly cut in sweetly and she snorted.

 

"I should have known you all just wanted something from me," she shook her head but was smiling," I'll bring it all right out."

 

 

The four had all crammed at a table nearby.

 

"So, R, as complete strangers who will probably never see you again.." Musichetta started," you are obligated to tell us all your secrets." She ignored Joly's bewildered laugh. "Are you from here?"

 

"I came from Leningrad," R said amused. All three of his listeners widened their eyes.

 

"That's crazy."

 

" _Mon_ _dieu_."

 

"Incredible."

 

 

"And do you three tend to pick up random strays and take them to get tea?" R mused.

 

The four talked for a while, they'd all lost track of time. R learned a lot about the strangers who he could hardly consider strangers anymore. He learned how clumsy Bousset was, and that he was trying to become lawyer (if he ever showed up to class). He learned how talented a dancer Musichetta was and that she wanted to become a ballerina in Paris one day. He learned that Joly was studying to be a doctor but had turned himself into a hypochondriac. R found himself more relaxed than he had been in months.

 

"So you and your friends will go to Paris tomorrow?" Bousset asked, later on. R nodded.

 

"We're basically there.. as long as my heart doesn't fail me first," he tried to laugh it off but Jolt frowned.

 

"Why are you so worried? You'll all be fine."

 

"I'm just terrified of..." R trailed off. He was scared of a lot of things, really. He was scared of finding a life in Paris. He was scared he would never find Éponine. He was scared he wasn't the Prince Grantaire at all. He was scared he'd never find the answers to his past. He was scared he'd lose this two closest friends.

 

He was scared Éponine wouldn't recognize him.

 

He was scared Combeferre would abandon he and Enjolras in Paris to go live out his dream.

 

He was scared Enjolras would go on to do greater things in the world, make a difference... and then... forget all about R.

 

And Enjolras alone was a whole another story with even more fears to go with it.

 

R looked at the three new friends with wide eyes.

 

"I'm _terrified_ of the future."

 

 

It's quiet for a while and R realizes he should probably get back now if he wanted to ever get to sleep at all tonight, even if just for a couple hours. They said their goodbyes and walked out of the small, empty café.

 

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around only for Joly to throw his arms around him and hug him tightly. R laughed and hugged him back. Bousset and Musichetta watched amused from a distance.

 

Joly let go slightly and stared at him for a moment.

 

"I do wish we could meet again, friend. You are great company and we'll miss you." He smiler then added; " _and_ _you_ will _find_ _Éponine_ , _Grantaire_."

 

He had whispered the last part but R's eyes widened. He had never told them any of that, he'd left out all the parts about the prince and finding Éponine again.

 

But Joly only had a knowing smile as he waved and left. The three walked away stumbling with each other in laughter and happiness, just like they were only hours before R had met them.

 

 

How odd. He'd never see them again. Their encounter only lasted a couple hours. Yet R would remember that experience forever.

 

 

When he found Enjolras and Combeferre once again, they were still asleep. R smiled fondly. His eyes somehow instinctively went to the blond.

 

He wondered how Enjolras could look so peaceful when he slept, such a big change from when he was all anger and passion when he is awake. R feels an odd warmth in his chest and quickly looks away. In just a couple days they’ll be gone. Enjolras will leave because they never truly stay. They have a plan and R can’t ruin it for something so silly, something so dangerous.

 

He leans back to lay down as well.

 

 

Joly's words ring in his mind.

He _will_ find Éponine.

R hopes.

This whole trip is a journey going forwards.

Yet it feels more like a journey to his past.

 

He finally falls asleep.

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

They arrive the next day near sunset.

 

It didn't seem like much of a difference, at first. Paris seemed the same as the rest of France that they had seen before.  But the deeper they walked into the city, the more they could sense it, the more they could feel it.

 

Combeferre stopped suddenly. R ran into his back but he didn't move. Enjolras stared at Ferre, confused.

 

And then Combeferre grinned. He smiled easily now, R noted. The closer they got to Paris the more Ferre was determined to get there. He had off days, though, all three of them did. But those days had been becoming more and more frequent as each day went by. They'd wake up and not want to move, not want to stand up and walk towards the unknown. Where their journey was once filled with conversation and hope it was silent and filled with anxiety. They'd go to sleep at night with the poet— _Jehan's_ — yelling, the gunshot loud in their minds as if on replay. It made them draw away from each other for a while, all dealing with it in their own ways. It made them sick to think about but couldn't seem to think about anything else.

 

But now Combeferre radiated pure joy, no signs of their past days of inner torment lingered on his face. The change of emotion sudden, and caught both R and Enjolras off-guard.

 

"We are here, _mes_ _amis_ ," he announced.

 

And when they looked forward, they all knew. Enjolras laughed, giddy and soft. R was unused to the sound of it and found it nearly impossible to ignore.

 

"We're here," he whispered, he turned to R, eyes wide," R, we made it!" Yeah, R definitely can't ignore the look on his face now. The mesmerizing mixture of excitement and happiness. Of course, anyone knew it would be a complete lie to say Enjolras was not beautiful. His outer beauty attracted everyone towards him but his pure and undeniable passion made them never want to leave his side. He left them entranced and caught up in the whirlwind of a storm he carried with him. The way he spoke, the way he worded his sentences, could bring tears to a strangers' eye. The way he smiled could convince the most stubborn person to budge. He was witty and quick and charismatic and dangerous. He radiated knowledge and intelligence in a way R has never found in another human being. He could be stern and serious one moment but bright and grinning the next. How can someone so wonderful exist?

 

He realizes he's staring and suddenly he looks to the street, certain his face is flushed. R had heard of Paris, obviously. He's seen pictures and articles; but nothing could prepare him for the absolute beauty of it all. His only past memory rushed towards him once again, 'together in Paris.' He knows this is where he belongs, this is where he was meant to be. As it was getting darker, the lights of shops and cafés were glowing. The people in the streets loud and laughing and full of bliss.

 

How strange it was to see a world so lively. A world so close but entirely different from all he's ever known.

 

In the windows of shops, R could see clothes that were probably so expensive he would never be able to afford a single item in his life. In others, he could see food, restaurants with people laughing and drinking, the night young. R realized a lot of people laughed in Paris; how different it was compared to Leningrad.

 

"It's beautiful," R breathed, finally finding the words to speak.

 

"It's free," Enjolras laughed. Just the sound of his laughter made R's face turn red and— and oh... this 'admiration' he had for the other man has turned into something entirely new now, he realizes slowly. An entirely new feeling, an entirely new name to it, and entirely new mess to go along with it. R shakes his head. This is not happening, not now.

 

"I'm home," Combeferre interrupted his thoughts and headed forward, not looking behind him to see if the others would follow.

 

In the distance, R could see it, the Eiffel Tower, glowing and mesmerizing (even with the sky not completely dark). But then R turned to Enjolras, confused.

 

"Has Combeferre been here before?" He asked. Enjolras glanced at him and smiled sadly.

 

"No, but he has studied it ever since Courf left. He read every French book he could find, studied every map, saw every article. He's been waiting for the moment to come here," Enjolras explained quietly.

 

"Then why is he 'home'?" R frowned.

 

"His home is where Courf is," there is a faint smile on his lips. Of course that's it. Combeferre hasn't seen one of his best friends, the love of his life, in four years. But now he can.

 

They follow Ferre.

 

But where Combeferre leads him to what seems to be a club. It startled a laugh out of R.

 

"The Neva Club?" He raised his eyebrows but Combeferre just nods.

 

"Someone I know works here, she can help us out."

 

And that's when they met Cosette.

 

Inside the Neva Club it's dark but light. Dancing bodies filled every corner of the large room and music played loudly from a band in the back. It was hard to hear anything over the combination of music, laughter, and yelling. R has to hold on to the back of Enjolras' coat sleeve as they walked through the crowd of people, careful not to lose track of the other two. Combeferre stops suddenly and R only barely avoids bumping into them once again.

 

The "somebody" in question is sitting at a table, in one hand she holds a drink and in the other a intricately designed fan. Her eyes are wide and blue, her hair short and glowing gold but she had a hat pinned to her head. The fan in her hand is vibrant in color and she stares at it with glee as she seemingly gushes to her friends.

 

There are two boys in front of her, one watches her with amusement in his eyes. The other boy, with freckles across his face, watches her with awe as if unable to look away. The three of them look painfully normal, like any other person in the club.

 

" _Oh..._ Cosette," Enjolras whispers as if finally realizing who they were meeting. R, of course, just watches, confused.

 

Combeferre taps the girl on the shoulder and she looks over. Her gaze lands on Combeferre and she gasps loudly. She drops the fan and stands up in a millisecond before she pulls Combeferre into a hug. Her eyes are closed and she's grinning wide but when she opens her eyes they land on Enjolras. Somehow with even more enthusiasm, she jumps and pulls him into an even tighter hug.

 

"Oh my god I've missed you both so much," she says quietly. Enjolras is about to respond before she pulls away, her hands still grabbing his arms, she glares darkly.

 

"You stopped writing me!" She says suddenly and hits him on the arm. It startles a laugh out of R and Enjolras rolls his eyes faintly amused.

 

"Didn't have an address to write from," Enjolras retorts. The freckled boy from before puts a comforting hand on Cosette's shoulder. She sighs, leaning into the touch, before smiling, her eyes find R's and her eyes widen.

 

"I don't know you," she says plainly.

 

"I don't know _you_ ," R repeats," I'm R." She grins.

 

"I'm Cosette, I used to live in Petersburg which I assume is where you three just came from," she glares at Enjolras when she says it, before gesturing to the two boys behind her," This is Marius—" the freckled boy—" and Feuilly—"the amused one.

 

"I don't understand why you're so mad at me," Enjolras huffs quietly but R sees the corners of his lips are slightly turned up. He hears Combeferre laugh.

 

"Because you've ignored me for _four_ years!" She narrows her eyes, arms crossing in front of her.

 

"I'm sorry how do you all know each other?" R asked bewildered.

 

"They're siblings," Combeferre smirked.

 

" _We're_ _not_ ," Enjolras and Cosette said in unison. Both of their eyes widen in surprise before glaring at each other. R has no idea what's happening.

 

"I have no idea what's happening," he voices his thoughts, he turns to one of Cosette's friends, Feuilly, and whispers,"Are they actually?" Feuilly opens his mouth to respond.

 

"My god, _no_ ," Enjolras answers instead, exasperated, "people only think we are because—"

 

"Because you're both blond and can be extremely mean?" Combeferre supplies.

 

"Exactly!" Enjolras points at his friend but then his face falls, (adorably) confused, "wait no." R laughs loudly at that and deliberately ignores how he can see Enjolras looks at him with faint amusement from the corner of his eyes. He can't bear to see that expression directed at him, nope not today. His poor heart has had enough Enjolras-induced flutters, (wow that sounds so dumb when he thinks of it that way, when did he become this much of a mess).

 

"She's friends with Courfeyrac, too" Combeferre finally explains, "she moved here before Éponine and Courf did but when she was still in Petersburg, she had stayed with us some nights during the winter when it was too cold."

 

"I used to live in an orphanage there but the couple who ran the place would lock the kids out for the night if we didn't make them enough money for them that day," Cosette adds on, "I was adopted and moved to Paris with my Papa— and I was supposed to keep in touch with these boys until _this_ guy stopped writing me back." She glares at Enjolras yet again.

 

"I think you're being a bit too aggressive, Cosette," Marius says quietly and Cosette sighs.

 

"I just missed you two a lot," She takes a deep breath before turning to face R. She stares at him intently for a moment and then she smiles faintly.

 

She looks at Combeferre, only slightly more serious than before. It seemed that everything she'd say, she said it with a ghost of a grin on her lips. Every word she spoke dripped with amusement, like she knows something no one else does. She radiates strength in a way that can only come from genuine kindness.

 

"So why did you two bring The Prince to me?" She says and suddenly all humor in their conversation is lost.

 

 

 

The club suddenly feels small. The walls feel too close. The noises too loud but too quiet. The group is just staring at each other now. Enjolras, Combeferre, and R with their faces white, eyes wide. Feuilly and Marius watching with worry. And Cosette, in the middle of it all, watching calmly with a hint of a smile.

 

R can't move.

 

Combeferre finally steps towards Cosette and Enjolras begins to stand in front of R, as if to shield him.

 

"How did you know?" Combeferre asks calmly, "is word being spread about this?" Instead she laughs.

 

"No, no don't worry, there's no news about this." She shakes her head and Ferre and Enjolras both relax slightly. "It's just.. obvious I mean look at him." She points to R and grins.

 

R frowns as Combeferre sighs, defeated.

 

"We're bringing him to Éponine," Enjolras says under his breath. Cosette's eyes widen.

 

"We need your help to find Courfeyrac to get to her," Combeferre adds on.

 

That's what this all was. They had no idea where Éponine was, but they had connections. If they found Courfeyrac, he would be able to tell them how they can reach her. The problem, however, was whether or not Courfeyrac would want to help.

 

"Are you sure about this?" Enjolras whispers to Combeferre. The only hint at a reply was a small nod.

 

Cosette's face turned serious as she assessed the three boys in front of her.

 

"What if Courfeyrac doesn't want to see you," she directs this at Combeferre, her voice dry and empty.

 

It's silent then. It feels like they're under water, the rest of the club's loud noises feel muted and empty. R's heart is beating hard in his chest and he isn't sure why he's panicking so damn much. The three of them have worked for months until this moment. Half the year spent all for this exact second. She could say yes and they can continue on. But she can say no and then they're thrown into the unknown— their journey would end here and forever.

 

"Would you really be able to know we came all this way to find him and never even tell him?" Enjolras finally speaks up, his voice soft.

 

At that, Cosette's eyes soften and her eyebrows pinch. She looks to the floor and suddenly looks even smaller than before. She's shorter than R, both Combeferre and Enjolras tower over her. Her shoulders are slumped and her hands toy with her paper fan.

 

Finally she looks up. This time she looks R in the eyes.

 

"This is for _you_ ," she says and her voice is strong, "Feuilly is good.. acquaintances with one of his guards, Bahorel. They're supposed to be here tomorrow night and if you meet Feuilly at the door he can get you inside."

 

 

 

 

Enjolras watches as R grins. Cosette herself starts to smile a little at her own worse and Combeferre immediately hugs her. She laughs now before pulling away.

 

"I do hope you two work it out," she whispers to him but Enjolras can still hear it. He chooses to ignore it.

 

"Now _you_ ," she points to R and the look of surprise on his face is almost comical, "dance with me, I'm curious about you." She smiles kindly before grabbing his arm and leading him to the crowd of dancers.

 

"Do we have anywhere to be tonight?" Enjolras asks Combeferre but his eyes are trained on R as he dances with Cosette.

 

"No, not tonight," he shakes his head but smiles, he looks at Enjolras.

 

"I don't like that look— what does that look mean," Enjolras glares accusingly but Combeferre just laughs, shaking his head, and claps a hand on his shoulder. He grabs a drink off of a nearby tray and pushes it into Enjolras' hand.

 

"For once in your life, relax, Enjolras," Combeferre says and walks away.

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes and calls out, "I am relaxed!"

 

He shakes his head as he watches his friend go. Enjolras hates not knowing what's next. Everything can go wrong. Everything can go right.

 

Courfeyrac was never mad at Enjolras— it's Combeferre who needs to make amends. And even then, they could find Éponine and what if she doesn't believe them? What if she doesn't believe their lie?

 

A lie.

 

Is it a lie?

 

He can't even tell at this point. He looks to the dance floor again, at R and Cosette. Cosette is laughing as he leads, R grinning.

 

He belongs here, belongs with the people, belongs with the rich.

 

It has to be him, truly him. There was almost no question. R was Grantaire. The resemblance was uncanny, his story made sense. And watching him now, he acted just like him.

 

Enjolras was smiling without realizing.

 

 _Prince_ _Grantaire_ , _I've_ _found_ _you_.

 

It doesn't feel like pretend anymore, this has to be real. But then he'll be gone won't he?

 

Enjolras shakes his head, no, he can worry about that another time.


	6. chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halfway between where he’s been and where he’s going.

Hours later and they're walking just outside the club towards where they're staying for the night. R doesn't know how Combeferre was able to find a place to stay but he wasn't going to ask.

 

It was late now, the sky was pitch black but the lights from stores and the streets were enough to see. They can still hear the music from the club, muted and distant. It's cold and windy and suddenly they hear Cosette call out their names. They stop in their tracks and turn to see her jogging towards them, a hand up to hold her hat down and the other to hold her skirt.

 

"Enjolras, Combeferre, I need to talk to you two real quick. Before you leave," she sent R an apologetic look.

 

"It's fine— just meet me at the bridge when you're done," R nodded his head behind him. He caught Combeferre's slightly worried look on his face but ignored it and began walking away.

 

He wanted to be alone anyways and he's sure it won't take long.

 

R walks slowly, the street was silent and he could faintly hear his boots echoing on the stone ground. When he reaches the bridge he pauses.

 

"The Pont Alexandre III bridge," R whispers to nothing, to everything. The corners of his lips pull up, "I've been waiting to come here." It was named after... his grandfather.

 

Or was it.

 

And this was it. This was the crossroads, the edge, the halfway mark, the climax, the tipping point.

 

It could all be a lie, R realizes. He knew a long there was the chance that none of its real. Maybe no one believes he's the prince. Maybe it's just him. They're all playing tricks on him and pretending and lying just to watch as he makes a fool of himself again and again and again—

 

R sighs.

 

His grandfather's bridge... but it may not even be his grandfather. What if R is just stealing the Prince's life? Stealing his title? Stealing his past? His future?

 

_No no no, R, you're spiraling again._

 

There truly is no going back now.

 

If he crosses this bridge he’s done, he can’t go back to Petersburg— or Leningrad or _whatever_ the fuck they call it now or will call it later.

 

It’s not his home anymore, he doesn’t belong there. He’s a wanted criminal so he’s stuck here.

 

He grew up poor and alone. Starving on the cold snowy streets of Russia and growing up without any sort of figure to parent him. He had to fight for food, work to live, suffer to exist. Everything he did he had done for survival— but what had he even been surviving for?

 

For this. For the opportunity, the possibility to find a piece of his past. To find somewhere he truly belongs.

 

R drags his hand across the bridge’s railing.

 

He never thought he’d make it here. When he was young and had dreamed of Paris, he figured he’d be either too poor or dead to make it this far.

 

R looks up to the other side of the Bridge. Even deeper into the city of Paris. He’s here to find Éponine. He can imagine it now.

 

And what if she was here, just on the other side of the bridge. Standing and waving and calling for him. She’s smiling and running and laughing and she’s yelling that he’s finally home and she’s finally found him—

 

But no... it’s all in his head.

 

R sighs.

 

The buildings in the distance are bright. The rooms of hotels and apartments lit up. Maybe one of them is Éponine.

 

He lets out a small, dry laugh.

 

 

“R!” He hears Enjolras’ voice and turns. He and Combeferre are jogging up to him, “Sorry that took so long. Let’s go.”

 

R follows them across the bridge because, truthfully, he'd follow them anywhere. He just wants to find Éponine.

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

Gavroche slammed the door shut and laughed, high pitched and loud— as if he was holding back laughter from before.

 

"Can you believe that one! That was an actual _old man_!" He laughs again and soon Courfeyrac's giggles joined with him, "he must've been at least 50 years old."

 

Éponine didn't move from where she stood in the middle of the room. She was still. A statue.

 

Courfeyrac said something. Maybe it was a joke. She heard Gavroche start to laugh so it must have been. She tuned them out.

 

Her shoulders were tense, curved in on herself as if she wanted to disappear. The only sign of movement came from her shaking hands.

 

It hurts to breathe, she thinks suddenly, it hurts to live.

 

"Why do they do this?" Éponine's quiet and shaky voice says suddenly. Gavroche and Courfeyrac are silent immediately. She feels like she can hear her heartbeat in her chest. "What do they expect?" Her voice breaks and she sniffs.

 

"Éponine maybe you should sit down—" Courfeyrac starts.

 

“These strangers think they can just— just _pretend_!” She explodes, “It’s not right! They think I’ll fall for it? They think they can just show up and leave with no consequences? God I just—”

 

She’s pacing back and forth. Hands pulling at her hair, nails scratching into her skin. She needs to feel anything.

 

“I just want to find him,” she stares at Courfeyrac who watches with worry. His hands are withdrawn, eyes sad.

 

Éponine looks down in shame before turning around. Her face is flushed. All she does is make them worry. She walks towards the opposite side of the room.

 

The balcony doors are open, the cool air of the night blowing against her hot skin. The tears on her cheeks feel cool.

 

She thinks vaguely of the summertime in Petersburg. How warm it was. She remembers Grantaire running towards her. A grin on both their faces as they played silly games only children could do with so much joy.

 

And will he ever run to her again? Will look down and see him in the streets, running towards her with that same grin. With the same curly hair and the same green eyes.

 

She’s believed for so _damn_ long. She spent the majority of her life waiting and hoping and destroying herself. Every day and every night she will look down at the street wondering if she would see him. Would he pass by? Her doors are left open, hoping that one day he would enter. Would he come?

 

Even if he was alive, why hasn’t he found her yet?

 

She doesn’t think she can handle it anymore. Each time the door opens, with her heart beating in her chest. And then she shatters all over again because it’s never him.

 

He’s dead. He’s gone. He’s hiding.

 

She looks out onto the streets below her. It’s dark. Only a few people walk in the streets. Her hands shake as she grips the railing.

 

But deep down she knows. He’s all a lie. He’ll never come.

 

“Tell them all, I’ll be seeing no more.” She finally says.

 

“I’m sorry what?” she hears Courfeyrac. He’s frowning when she turns around. Gavroche behind him, they wear the same expression.

 

“Tell them to go. I’m done... I’m _done_.” tears fall down her cheeks, “I’m closing the doors for good. Forever.”

 

“Éponine, think about this,” Gavroche whispers.

 

“He’s either dead or he doesn’t want to be found,” her voice is steel.

 

“Are you sure?” Courfeyrac asks softly.

 

She pauses. Her eyes drift to the balcony. She hears distant but loud laughter. People living their lives. The world didn’t stop that day. The world continued on with their lives. She was the only one who never moved on. The only one who couldn’t forget. Why should she waste forever waiting for someone who will never come?

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

One word. A finality. A promise. A commitment.

 

Courfeyrac locks the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kinda a filler chapter but you know some interesting stuff stuff happens soon so...


	7. chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac and Combeferre meet again and Grantaire has a nightmare

"Are you okay?"

 

The question almost startles Courfeyrac. He had been staring off, eyes glazed over and focusing on nothing as dancers and drunks laughed and conversed in front of him. He was thinking about the day before. About Éponine. About how final it all seemed.

 

"Courfeyrac?" Marius called again, tapping him on the cheek. Ah, yes. He's supposed to be having "fun" here. Courfeyrac chooses to ignore his friend's question and tries to think of anything to chance the subject.

 

"Do you ever feel like a lady-in-waiting?" Courfeyrac asks because he's lonely and has no filter.

 

"I have a girlfriend," Marius responds with wide eyes, "also neither of us are ladies."

 

"Yeah I thought so," Courfeyrac sighed. There was a time when all of his friends were single and now it's just... him. And that's not even the problem— or that's not the real problem. No, the problem is...

 

Courfeyrac blinks. Well he doesn't know what the problem is. But everything feels so empty and lonely and boring and just not right.

 

He can't blame it on living in Paris, he's lived here for far too long by now. Although the transition from working in the palace to living in a flat was rather... difficult... he never necessarily had problems with it.

 

For Christs sake he was a Count back in Russia— but there is no going back.

 

Courfeyrac grabs Marius' drink and downs it, he ignores the burn in his throat. _Give it up for Count Nobody now._

 

But Courfeyrac can't bring himself to care about any of that anymore. It's all behind him and he loves the life he lives now. There are no second chances and he's willing to throw himself head first into the unknown.

 

"I say," he paused, grinning, "we live in the past for a night. No no listen! _Listen, Marius_. Party like we're— like we're living with the royalty again!"

 

Marius' eyebrows rose.

 

Courfeyrac laughed and was about to continue his poor speech before his eyes caught onto something behind his friend. Courfeyrac frowned. It was a tall man, who had just walked through the entrance. He's talking to Feuilly but his back is turned to Courfeyrac. He tries to figure out why he seems so familiar to him when the guy turns around.

 

The make eye contact.

 

Courfeyrac can't breathe.

 

"That _bastard_ ," is what strangled words come out of his mouth.

 

"What? Who?" Marius looks around, frowning. Courfeyrac doesn't answer, he just clenches his fists as he looks forwards.

 

"I'm gonna drink tonight until I pass out," Courfeyrac suddenly says flatly. Marius looks at him worriedly but Courfeyrac ignores him. Just like he's going to ignore Combeferre. He turns around to walk to the bar when—

 

"Courf?" A strong hand on his shoulder.

 

That. Bastard.

 

He blinks, he breathes deeply, he turns around.

 

"Do I know you?" He says plainly. Combeferre's hopeful face turns into a frown.

 

"Don't do that to me, don't play dumb, please," The man in front of him sighs and Courfeyrac glares.

 

"Why are you here?" He finally says, then he frowns with worry. Combeferre is here but where the hell is Enjolras? He's the youngest of the three, Combeferre's job is to always look out for Enjolras what if—

 

"Enjolras is at a hotel right now," Combeferre doesn't answer the question but he does answer the question unspoken. Courfeyrac hates that he finds it endearing. _Stop it stop it stop it._

 

"I'm still mad at you," Courfeyrac says weakly, he can't look Combeferre in the eyes.

 

"Not as much as you should be," Combeferre responds and his voice is soft. Courfeyrac sighs. He looks him in the eyes.

 

"Answer this honestly; why the hell are you here?" He enunciates each word slowly, staring at him straight in the eyes. He sees Combeferre hesitate. He looks awkward, suddenly— almost hesitant. This was a look that was rare on Combeferre. Finally, he answered.

 

"We found Grantaire." Courfeyrac stills.

 

"No," he shakes his head," no no no you didn't come all this way just to pull me into another one of your tricks to get money—"

 

"It's not for the money, Courf, not anymore," Combeferre looked at him pleadingly, "I want to make things right to you, I do. But, I also truly believe, the boy that's in the hotel room with Enjolras at this very second is truly him. I mean— the resemblance is there! He's around the same age.. the story checks out! Please just... please trust me. And if you can't trust me, trust that Enjolras knows what's right and do this good deed for us."

 

Combeferre's face is tinted red and his eyes are wide as he stares at Courfeyrac, searching for something that he doesn't have time to think about right now.

 

"I want to believe you," Courfeyrac chooses his words carefully and suddenly feels guilty at the way Combeferre's face falls immediately, "but even if I 100% believed you right now... Éponine isn't going to be seeing anyone anymore, she's done with it."

 

"I see..." Combeferre trailed but when his eyes met Courfeyrac's again, he held a soft look. "Well... to be completely honest, I'm here for you too."

 

And in that moment there was so much honesty in his words... in his voice, that Courfeyrac knew he just can't hate him.

 

"Damn you," Courfeyrac whispered but then there was a grin on Combeferre's face and Courfeyrac couldn't help himself.

 

He smiled.

 

"Can we talk? Outside?" Combeferre held out his hand, not automatically reaching for Courfeyrac's but pausing, as if asking for permission. Courfeyrac took his hand and squeezed it slightly before leading him out a nearby back door.

 

It's strangely warm outside. They didn't step very far out, Courfeyrac stopped and leaned against the brick wall as the door shut.

 

They were still holding hands and Combeferre was blushing. Courfeyrac tried not to feel too smug at that.

 

"You're here for me, huh?" He finally grins. Conbeferre gives him a small smile.

 

"I want to apologize."

 

"Ferre, you don't need to apologize—"

 

"I do!" Combeferre looked at him earnestly, "I am so unbelievably sorry."

 

Courfeyrac's eyes softened and he looked down at the floor before meeting his eyes again. He sighs.

 

"Éponine will be at the ballet tomorrow night. I will give you four tickets to it," Courfeyrac reaches into his pocket and pressed the paper into Combeferre's hand, "at intermission, have your... Grantaire... meet me by our box. I'll make sure that he sees Éponine, I promise you that."

 

Courfeyrac trusts Combeferre, he trusts him with his whole heart.

 

And Combeferre's expression turns wistful, almost sad, and he looks at Courfeyrac with wide eyes, he puts the tickets in his own pocket, "I shouldn't have made you leave, I shouldn't have let go of you so easily, Courfeyrac... But we're in Paris now, and we're no longer there.... We can start a new life here, together. If you'll let me, Courfeyrac, I never stopped loving you— please, start a life with me."

 

It didn't feel as sudden as it should have.

 

This is a realization Courfeyrac has, all in a matter of seconds. Nothing ever feels too fast with Combeferre. No. This was perfect.

 

He's known this man for years. And in those years apart— they never felt so far away.

 

No, Courfeyrac wasn't mad, he was never truly mad. And deep down, he knew Combeferre would find him again. Now, seeing him here in front of him, offering to live the rest of their lives together, Courfeyrac knew it was never a question of if but when.

 

Courfeyrac smiled, eyes watering.

 

"You know my answer, Ferre," and he tilted his chin upward, not a question, an expectation. Combeferre met his lips halfway and Courfeyrac had never been more certain of where his life was going, because no matter what, he'd be by Combeferre's side.

 

"I suppose we're back where we began," Combeferre whispered as he broke away, there was a coy smile on his lips and Courfeyrac laughed before grabbing his arm and leading him to the streets.

 

"You're coming to my place, _Monsieur_ ," Courfeyrac says and laughs again. He feels safe for once.

 

 

 

 <>

 

 

 

 

Montparnasse watched as they walked away, hands clasped and backs turned away from him. Something catches his eye on the floor and he waits until they're out of his sight before walking forward, stepping out into the streetlight.

 

And on top of the ground, he sees it.

 

A ticket... to the ballet.

 

It had fallen out of the smaller boy's pocket no doubt.... a single ticket. A perfect coincidence. The perfect mistake.

 

He bent down and picked it up, a cold grin on his face.

 

"See you tomorrow night, Grantaire." He stuffs the ticket into his coat pocket.

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

R hadn't had his usual nightmares in days. Enjolras knew he had them, he wasn't an idiot, but there was nothing he could do about it. He and Combeferre learnt of his nightmares long ago, back when they still lived at the empty palace. Where screams echoed and it was impossible to stifle cries. Enjolras never knew what to do when he had them, he knew nothing about R's true past, but whatever it was, it wasn't too happy.

 

Yet the nightmares had stopped, until now.

 

Enjolras wasn't asleep. Combeferre wasn't even back yet so he had no idea whether their plan will end here or continue on. So no, he can't sleep, not when everything was too soon. Soon they'd find Éponine.

 

 

Soon R would be gone.

 

 

Enjolras stared at the ceiling. He'd avoided that thought for a while now, hoping if he kept it out of his mind, it would no longer be true.

 

Deep down he knew he was lying to himself.

 

That was when he heard a sudden yell. He sat up quickly, his heart racing, before stumbling to the hallway, almost by instinct. What if someone broke in. What if R's hurt. Is Combeferre back? Is he hurt _Oh god oh god-_

 

But when he got to the open door to R's room, he paused. No one else was in there. R was sat up in his bed, trying to steady his breathing, a hand on his own chest. He made no indication that he saw Enjolras from where he stood in the doorway.

 

Only the faded streetlights from out of his window gave the room any light to see.

 

Enjolras walked towards him, but he hesitated before sitting down on the bed in front of him. He put a hand on R's shoulder and the boy's head shot up to meet his eyes. Almost immediately R's gaze softened, his breathing slowed.

 

Enjolras was never one for physical touch. It was not that he didn't enjoy a hug from a friend or a casual hand on the shoulder every so often but he was never the one to initiate it. But now, it felt natural.

 

Then it was silent for seconds, even minutes. All you could hear was R trying to catch his breath.

 

"I had a family," R whispered suddenly, "I still don't know how I ended up alone, Enjolras. Maybe they died. Maybe I was attacked in the street. Maybe I got lostone day, I- _I don't know_."

 

"I'm sure they didn't leave by choice," Enjolras responded just as quietly. R gave him a small laugh.

 

"Yeah maybe." R closed his eyes and shook his head before looking back up at Enjolras again, "Have you ever met the prince? Ever seen him- even just for a second?"

 

R didn't miss the way Enjolras' eyes suddenly grew sad. Didn't miss the way his smile faltered. Enjolras looked away. R's smile fell. He didn't mean to bring up anything that would make Enjolras' nice smile turn into something so sad.

 

And _wow_ R always gets sappy when he's tired.

 

"I was ten, I think....It was June." He ran a hand through his curly blond hair. "I don't think I could ever forget it. He left quite the impression." R grinned at that. Enjolras held an expression he couldn't quite place when he told the story. It was odd.

 

 

"It was at a parade, I don't remember what for because at the time I honestly didn't care. I had shoved my way past people, trying to see them, catch a glimpse of any of them. Even just one.

 

 

"And then I saw him. Prince Grantaire, he must have been only eight or nine then but when you saw him.. it's like you forgot everything wrong with the them-with the world," Enjolras was smiling, "he stood tall and proud. Looking left and right as he waved. They didn't smile, he wasn't supposed to. He was a natural.. I couldn't take my eyes off him."

 

 

R stared at Enjolras with an odd look on his face . "So you saw him but he didn't even glance at you? I was expecting more, Enj," R tsked and Enjolras laughed.

 

 

"I'm not done yet!" He smiled at R," I ran towards him."

 

 

"You _idiot_!" R's eyes widened but his words held no malice with the large grin on his face.

 

 

"I ran and started calling out his name, The guards didn't see me at first, I was too small. But then I was so close to him and I reached out my hand. Just lightly on his shoulder.." Enjolras looked to the ceiling and continued," and he had turned around, his eyes were wide and immediately I thought how stupid this was. I was a homeless, dirty little kid and here I was, just grabbing the Prince-" Enjolras took a deep breath, shuddering slightly at the memory.

 

 

"But then he smiled," Enjolras whispered," He wasn't supposed to, but he smiled at me and it was genuine.. it was so genuine... but the parade continued as if it never happened. With the sun's glare shining in my eyes, I lost him for a moment and then.. he was gone.

 

"There were thousands in that crowd, and I know, it's stupid- but I would have given _anything_ to find him again."

 

 

R laughed softly but when Enjolras looked towards him, it wasn't to make fun of him. R's smile was genuine and happy.

 

 

"That's _cute_ ," Enjolras glared at him but R shook his head," No really, it is! You're making me feel like I was there."

 

 

"Maybe you were," Enjolras grinned at R," you could have been there in the crowd, watching as well. Make it your own, R."

 

 

"Well," he started off slowly," There was a parade... and it was really hot outside. Not a single cloud in the sky." He smirked when Enjolras rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder against his. R stood up.

 

 

"And there was a boy," R said and Enjolras groaned," _no shh_! There was a _boy_ who caught my eye.

 

 

"He was thin, covered in dirt, but he stood out. His hair was a blond disaster, truly, like imagine a birds nest except somehow much much worse-"

 

 

"Stop being mean."

 

 

"Stop interrupting!" R laughed," So he sprinted towards me, dodging in between the guards. But I saw him in the crowd." R enjoyed this. It almost felt real, like maybe it was him. It almost felt like a memory rather than a story.

 

 

"He was running despite the heat and thick crowd in between him, and he suddenly shouted my name-so obviously- I turned around."

 

 

_'Obviously.''Shut up!'_

 

 

"And then I tried not to smile.. and I couldn't help it at all... but I smiled," R glanced at Enjolras who still sat on his bed. He was looking up at him with a grin. His eyes held a fondness R hadn't realized had been there for quite some time now. He looked smaller now, calmer. R liked this Enjolras, the one who laughed easily and smiled dangerously.

 

He didn't know how pretty he looked when he allowed himself to smile like that.

 

 

Suddenly a flash of gold and blond hair crossed his mind. Blue eyes. That small smile.

 

 

_blue eyes._

_there's dirt under his eyebrow._

_a warm smile._

_never seen hair so gold.._

_how can eyes be so blue._

_eyes. dirt. gold. blue. smile._

_eyes. dirt. gold. blue. smile._

_eyes. dirt. gold. blue. smile—_

 

 

 

R gasped.

 

"And then... he _bowed_ ," R finished. His eyes widened and Enjolras' smile fell from his face completely almost immediately. His mouth open slightly in surprise. They stared at each other, neither daring to move before Enjolras stood up. He walked towards R excruciatingly slow and froze. His voice was gentle but shaking.

 

 

"I didn't tell you that."

 

 

"You didn't have to," and were those tears in R's eyes? " _Enjolras, I remember._ "

 

 

He remembered the palace, his far too large room that he begged his mother to share with Éponine while she was still in town. _Éponine_! His best friend. The pranks they had pulled on the staff and the countless jokes. He remembered his mother and father. He remembered his siblings and how they all got along so well. The summers they'd spend together. How they would run around the palace despite being yelled at for it. All the fancy balls his family would prepare for.

 

 

He remembered the attack. The music box. The screams. _He wasn't left behind. He was shot._ He had fallen.

 

 

And _god_ yes did he remember that beautiful blond boy from the parade.

 

 

 

Enjolras stepped closer, his eyes were impossibly wide. He looked... vulnerable. They were so close. Inches away. R— no, _Grantaire's_ heart was beating fast now. If he just tilted his head up their lips would be touching. He wanted this. He needed this. They drew closer and closer. Enjolras raised his hand to gently graze his cheek. _Finally finally finally._ His heart was beating loudly.

 

Until he stopped. Grantaire frowned when Enjolras stepped back, hand fallen back to his side.

 

 

 

 _No_.

 

 

 

Enjolras can't do this.

 

 

Before, maybe, but now? Grantaire is a prince. Enjolras is nothing.

 

 

He's everything Grantaire's family had gone against. The poor. The useless.

 

 

_He's nothing._

 

 

But even then— what comes next? He can't go back. This is _it_. This is the real thing. This isn't some fantasy, not anymore.

 

It's not a lie.... it's real and somehow that's worse.

 

 

He's... absolutely nothing.

 

 

_He's nothing at all._

 

 

And this revelation is somehow the most painful thought he has ever had.

 

 

He'll _never_ be anything to him.

 

 

 

And so Enjolras then collapses to one knee, his head bowed. Fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Grantaire shook his head, confused, before he heard Enjolras' whisper.

 

 

" _Your highness_."

 

 

And Grantaire's heart broke synonymously as Enjolras' entire world completely shattered around him.


	8. chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever truly gets resolved.

Combeferre thought he would be back before anyone else woke up; however, he walks in the small living room he's surprised to see Enjolras there, alone and sitting on the floor by the large window. He's just staring outside. His blond hair seemingly glowing from the sunlight reflecting off the buildings and streets out the window. Combeferre is suddenly reminded of a childhood nickname that had been given to Enjolras; _Apollo_. The other kids called him that for a week until it turned into a type of taunting. It ended, of course, when Enjolras had threatened to punch one of the boys who wouldn’t stop. They had all been terrified of him, even at eleven years old. _Apollo_ seemed fitting, the lively and terrifying look on his face constantly. But Combeferre sees now that his eyes are blank and tired. He's completely still.

 

"How was Courf?" Enjolras asks, it's empty, like his mind is somewhere else. His voice is soft, though, soft in a way it usually isn't. When’s his voice is “soft” it’s filled with fondness it tiredness, yet now it was just so emotionless. Combeferre shifted on his feet. Enjolras is filled with such passion— he's always just radiated it, practically glowing with love for the world around him. But in his voice, his small voice, he sounds like nothing. The passion isn't there. Combeferre frowns.

 

"We're more than okay now," he steps forward slightly. Should he tell him about the engagement? Maybe now wasn’t the time—

 

"I knew you would be," he can hear a small smile in Enjolras' voice but when he turns to look at him again, there is no real humor in the look on his face.

 

Combeferre tentatively sits beside him.

 

"R's the Prince." Enjolras says after a while. Combeferre laughs quietly.

 

"Gee I hope you think so, otherwise this whole plan wouldn't be working out-" Combeferre starts.

 

"No, _goddamnit_ , Ferre." Enjolras' eyes harden as he looks forward, Combeferre's grin fades, "it's really him. I _know_ it is. R _is_ Grantaire."

 

Combeferre frowns and Enjolras finally meets his eyes, gaze unwavering. He knows the blond isn't lying. And there it is, there the passion is. Lying deep within his hardened eyes. It’s anger, sure, but Combeferre recognizes the emotion his friend feels. He’s known him too long to pass it off as a bad mood. Enjolras is sad about something— no, _devastated_.

 

"He knows something no one else does," Enjolras continues. Combeferre didn't need to ask for him to explain, he would tell him if he wanted to. Enjolras shook his head sighing, "I've never told anyone— not even you, not even Courf. It wasn't something you can make up, not about me. He _remembers_ , Ferre.. He's the _fucking_ Prince. The real deal."

 

 

Combeferre is silent, now he is the one looking out the window. Paris is absolutely beautiful in the early morning's light. There are more people out on the streets than in Petersburg. The sunlight makes the buildings look gold as they stretch on before them.

 

He wraps an arm around his best friend and pretends not to notice him completely collapse against his side. And yet again, Combeferre is reminded of how hard it is to ever understand his younger friend; Enjolras should be happy, right? Is this not what he wanted?

 

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Combeferre realizes it that night.

 

 

 

Just hours before the Ballet, he and Enjolras are waiting for R. Enjolras had been quiet all day, refusing to elaborate when Combeferre asked more questions so he gave up. Enjolras would talk to him when he wanted to.

 

 

Except he really didn't need to tell him anything. Combeferre figured it out.

 

 

Because one second Enjolras was crouched to fix the bottom of his pant leg but stopped short when he saw shoes stand in front of him. His eyes trailed upwards until he saw a familiar face giving him the smallest but most genuine smile, as if unable to contain it.

 

 

R's suit is a dark green, a color that makes his eyes look even lighter than usual.

 

 

Combeferre saw Enjolras stand up quickly, only a little taller than R. He swallowed nervously but tentatively smiled back before saying something quietly that Combeferre couldn't quite hear. Whatever it had been made the tips of R's ears turn red.

 

 

Combeferre's fond smile disappeared as he watched the two, his mouth forming an 'O' shape and his gaze turned quickly to sadness.

 

 

R looks amazing, truly. He looks like he could be ( _and he is_ , Combeferre reminds himself) a prince. He was radiant, and looked more confident than he has ever seen him look before. This was where he was meant to be. This was how he was born to live. He didn't have to adapt into the life of luxury— it had welcomed him with open arms and submerged him into it's beauty.

 

Everything was going to plan. Everything was going perfectly. Combeferre had thought it all out, he was prepared. He had known what to expect every step of the way.

 

So he is only able to watch, utterly dumbfounded, as Enjolras takes R's hand and leads him inside.

 

 _This wasn't part of the plan_ , Combeferre bites his lip.

 

This was a mistake. Enjolras can't be with R and he knows it. R is a prince, R will become royalty again. Enjolras is no one. His heart aches in his chest. He should have expected this surely, hell if Courfeyrac were here he’d have called it within a second of meeting the two. But even then, this— thing they have, it can never come true. It was completely impossible.  Combeferre shakes his head sadly. His shoulders sag as if in defeat.

 

It was his fault, he allowed this to happen, allowed them to become so close. He should have looked out for Enjolras, was that not the one job Courfeyrac gave him before he left? Their younger friend— like a little brother. And now Combeferre did nothing as Enjolras fell deep in love with someone he could never even dream of having, right under his nose. 

 

" _I should have_ never _let them dance_ ," He whispers.

 

 

He follows them inside, head hanging low.

 

 

<>

 

 

The Swan Lake has started and Grantaire won't stop fidgeting.

 

He shouldn't be so worried, he really shouldn't be. He remembers now, he knows he's the Prince. But still, everything is still so unsure and fuzzy. Everything is changing so fast and so much, his brain can't catch up.

 

Yet there's the chance that Éponine won't recognize him. Maybe he got too caught up in his own lie. What if he spent so long trying to be convinced by his friends that he was the prince that he began to believe them? What if it's all one giant joke they're playing on him?

 

His hands are shaking and he finds himself pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. Enjolras seems to catch the movement and for a moment, he puts his own hand on top of Grantaire's to stop. Enjolras' hand is warm, it's calloused yet soft. Grantaire's heart speeds up, his hand stills but before he knows it, Enjolras is retrieving his hand slightly, eyes still trained on the ballet going on down below as if that hadn't just happened.

 

 

And _oh yeah_ , the ballet, Grantaire should probably start to actually watch that at some point. He looked towards the dancers, a ballerina twirling across the stage en pointe with her partner close by. The music is soft but loud.  Somehow it is still unable to stifle the sound of Grantaire's thoughts.

 

Could this be it? This very night? Will everything truly change after today?

 

Grantaire's never had much hope for his future, when he was alone on the streets of Leningrad. He had never thought he'd be here. He never thought he'd make it to Paris. It doesn't feel _real_.

 

His lifelong dream had always been to come here— to find his way home. Together in Paris... well he's here now so what the hell is he supposed to do?

 

A flash of movement catches his eye from the opposite side of the theater, on the balcony. Suddenly he's frozen.

 

Everything is subdued, like he's underwater. He's holding his breath, his eyes unblinking, his heart seemingly stopping in his chest.

 

It's _her_.

 

It's Éponine.

 

It _has_ to be.

 

Her eyes are dark and narrowed as she watches the ballet, in the booth with her Grantaire recognizes Marius, Cosette, another man who he can only assume is Courfeyrac judging by his description, and finally, a young boy. Gavroche, his mind supplies, _where the fuck did that name just come from?_ Grantaire is lost, staring from afar, his eyes are wide and watering, his eyebrows pinched.

 

 

_Ponine no, tell me you're joking_

_"I have to leave, you know I don't want to,"_

_Why now? Why tell me now?_

_One day you will go to Paris and I will meet you right there. Wherever you are, wherever I am, doesn't matter. You'll find me in Paris."_

_Together in Paris.._

 

 

Grantaire wipes at his eyes. He remembers so clearly, it feels so fucking real. Is it a memory or is it a dream? How torn he is now that it feels so real, now that everything is so different

 

What if it's all a part of his imagination? Not real at all. But how can it be with a friend he remembers so clearly just on the other side of the theater?

 

Right in front of him is his past, the key to everything he missed, everything to who he is.

 

Yet to his right...

 

To his right is the boy who makes Grantaire question everything he has ever done and will ever do. Enjolras inspired and encouraged him. His feelings for the boy are not unknown although Grantaire wishes he could ignore them, it'd make everything so much easier wouldn't it?

 

Love has no place in the complete mess of his life.

 

So Grantaire looks away, to the dancers below. He just needs to get through Act I.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Éponine doesn't want to be here. She had always enjoyed going to the ballet but tonight she wasn't in the mood.

 

Her mind was a whirlwind, her emotions unstable. She was questioning every decision all the while wishing she could just be stern. She was never good at making final decisions, not when it came to Grantaire.

 

Her life should go back to normal now, whatever normal is. She had never been able to live a normal life. The day they lost Grantaire and the rest of the royal family was the day her 'normal' life ended, and this new one began. She couldn't rest, couldn't think, couldn't dream.

 

Gavroche grew up and quickly realized just how important Grantaire had been, and it pained her more than anything when he had admitted to her that he had no memory of Grantaire; he had been too young. And that realization had been too much to bear. All too quickly she understood people would one day forget about Grantaire, that he'd be just a story in a history lesson.

 

But she knew. She thought she knew. He was alive.

 

Yet now... now she really knows. She needs to accept it. He isn't here, he's _dead_.

 

She breathes deeply, but her eyes widen. She is not watching the dancers, no, she is looking across the theater. Her eyes landing on a boy, a boy who looks far too much like—

 

"Could it be..." she lets out the whisper without thinking, her voice trailing off when she realizes what she has said, " _no. No no no no, don't be so stupid, 'Ponine_."

 

She can't think like this, not anymore. No matter how similar they seem to be.

 

Wild dark curly hair, seen even from so far away. She could not see the color of his eyes, the eyes that were so often the dead giveaway, but... the mannerism of him.

 

Gavroche puts a hand on her arm, giving her a questioning look but she shakes her head, leaning back in her seat.

 

She has moved on and there was no going back. She’s done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Montparnasse can't focus.

 

He is on a balcony at the ballet, music from the orchestra blaring, dancers twirling on the stage, lights shining. The theater is crowded, he remembers seeing a sign the night before stating that it was sold out. There are so many things he could distract himself with, yet one thing stays in his mind.

 

The gun in his pocket is pressed uncomfortably to his side, a feeling that's impossible to ignore. He shots a glance to the other side of the theater. It's hard to see from where he is, but it's him, it's definitely him. He could recognize him from anywhere.

 

Grantaire. Grantaire who was introduced as nothing but R, who had no other name but the single letter. But Montparnasse knew, he knew from the moment he spotted him on the dirty streets of Leningrad.

 

He's right there, he's so close. If Montparnasse took out his gun and shot now, he could kill him so easily.

 

Yet here he is, sitting still, watching a ballet on the balcony, the stolen ticket clenched in his left hand. Why can't he just do it? Why can't he just go through with it?

 

He is _in love_ with Grantaire. The boy plagues his mind day and night. He is a constant in Montparnasse's life. How dare he. How dare that boy enter his life and stand in the way of his direct orders. Stand in the way of his life's purpose!

 

He can't bring his family shame, after what his father failed to do. He never could make him proud, but now he can. Now, he can bring glory to his name and get rid of the Grantaire blood that's plagued his life for years. But he was scared, he was so scared. He felt weak compared to his father. His father killed the Grantaire's without any doubt, without faltering. Yet here he was, heart beating fast in his chest for all the wrong reasons.

 

Love has no place in this war, against this revolution.

 

Yet fate...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fate has brought them here. To this night. To this theater.

 

Now Enjolras never believed in fate. He never believed in a god. He wanted to, he wanted to so badly, to believe in a god that would give him hope. But how could he believe in either of these things? He can't believe in fate if fate was what led him to being homeless on the bitter streets of Russia? How was fate fair if fate killed his mother and father? No, Enjolras did not believe in fate, but now he started to believe that maybe... just _maybe_...

 

It was fate that brought Grantaire by Enjolras' side, the boy watching the ballet with bright eyes while Enjolras' gaze stays on the floor. His jaw is set, his mind and heart racing. He can't focus on anything when his thoughts are just screaming at him.

 

He has to remind himself Grantaire is safe, to remind himself that this is for the best.

 

Because the real question is; why did Enjolras even let this happen? Why did he allow it to get this far? Even from the beginning, he only went along with it because Combeferre was so set on it. It was wrong, wasn't it? To make up such a lie about the boy, to take advantage of his vulnerability. He told Combeferre to go through with it, agreed to it. Not once did Enjolras ever voice his concerns about it all.

 

He did it because Grantaire was like him. He was abandoned, forgotten, and alien. So damn alone. Enjolras’ life was and will forever be hell, he never had a home, never had a family. Nothing in his life has ever been permanent. But he had the opportunity to give all of that to Grantaire.

 

And now he knows that Grantaire is truly the prince.

 

Hope, love, family. It’s all his now. Even if Enjolras will never experience any of these things, he’ll be happy if he knew that Grantaire did.

 

All the blond has to do is continue til the end. All he has to do is sit and pretend to watch the ballet below while ignoring his racing thoughts.All he has to do is wait, provide support for Grantaire who looks so pale right now that Enjolras fears momentarily that the boy might pass out at any moment.

 

The lights dim for a moment, Enjolras notices the dancers are in their final poses.

 

And suddenly the stage is cleared, the lights shine bright, and the audience’s voices grow loud. It’s intermission. It’s time.

 

Enjolras looks to Combeferre, sure that the panic is evident in his wide eyes. Combeferre, however, looks calm, a hint of a smile on his lips as he tilts his head mouthing ‘ _go, you’ll be fine_.’

 

Enjolras breathes. He grabs Grantaire’s hand without really thinking beforehand and stands. Grantaire, though, doesn’t bring his hand away, instead he tries to smile but can’t quiet get rid of the look of fear on his face.

 

“You’ll be alright,” Enjolras mutters to Grantaire as he leads him down the crowded hallway, “you remember most of it now, it’s all real, it’s all there in your head.” He feels Grantaire squeeze his hand tighter.

 

“I didn’t have a clue who I was just barely 24 hours ago, this is all just so much, _Enj_ ,” he sounded so stressed and all Enolras wanted to do was hug him. (He stopped himself).

 

“Half a year ago you were homeless and probably about to die on the streets without knowing your family,” without ever meeting me, “So much has changed but it’s for good, this is all good.” At that, Grantaire finally smiles and it’s genuine this time.

 

Enjolras pauses at the door, takes a deep breath and swallows the lump in his throat. Everything’s fine, it’s gonna be okay.

 

With one last squeeze of Grantaire’s hand, he let’s go before knocking on the door and it opens slightly to reveal Courfeyrac. The boy was grinning and his eyes glinted when he saw Enjolras.

 

Courfeyrac flings his arms around the younger and holds him so tight that Enjolras can hardly breathe. They don’t speak, they just close their eyes and cling to each other. The boys only break apart when Enjolras hears faint laughter to his right. His eyes widen and he steps away, hand pushing Grantaire forward.

 

“Courf, this is _him_ ,” is all Enjolras needs to say.

 

The boy’s eyes narrow as he finally looks at Grantaire, but Enjolras can tell by his face that he’s happy with what he sees. Suddenly, Courfeyrac grins.

 

“I knew I could trust Combeferre, come on in, _Grantaire_.”

 

Courfeyrac opens the door wide and gestures for Grantaire to follow, who takes a couple steps forward before facing Enjolras again, suddenly serious.

 

“Enjolras, look, what you’ve done means so much to me, it does. And before I go, before everything changes, I just wanted to tell you I—“

 

Enjolras is shaking his head, his heart beating faster than before but he’s smiling a pained smile, he’s not sure he wants to hear the end of that sentence. Worried it would end in a way he didn’t want to, worried he would tell him ‘ _you’re a great friend’_ rather than the words he wanted to hear so badly.

 

“—just _go_ , Grantaire, you can tell me after when we have more time,” Enjolras cuts him off. Grantaire sighs and sends him one last, reluctant smile.

 

The door closes behind him, Enjolras breathes deeply, smile fading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this update taking so long! Originally this was part of another piece for the next chapter but it was getting too long so I decided to split it and post this one so enjoy this very short chapter :’)
> 
> thank you so much for all the lovely comments you have no idea how much they inspire me to continue with this <3


	9. chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras panics and does something kind of stupid.

Enjolras is panicking.

 

He doesn't usually panic. He's always been described as a (mostly) calm person who can maybe get a little too passionate sometimes— a lot of the time— but it doesn't matter. He's just never been one to panic. Except now he's _totally_ panicking and he can't seem to stop.

 

Because Grantaire and Éponine are behind those doors and... what then?

 

God he wished Combeferre were here with him right now, but he had wanted to stay in his seat, allowing Enjolras to bring Grantaire to her. Enjolras looks to the door. It's too quiet in there. What could they possibly be talking about that's taking so long?

 

But maybe Enjolras doesn't want them to come out. Right now, Grantaire is still... R. He was the wide eyed homeless boy who stumbled into the empty palace. The boy who was never so sure of himself yet was the loudest one in the room. He was unafraid. R was the one Enjolras had grown to be so close to. He was only R but he never was _just_ R.

 

Although, Enjolras knew the truth... it was him no doubt about it. He'd never told anyone about that day before but even then, the similarities were impossible to ignore.

 

But they're still taking too long. He started to pace in the hallway. They're plan was foolproof, right? But _oh god nothing is foolproof_ what the hell is he thinking.

 

Enjolras tried to slow down his breathing. Why is he really so worried? Grantaire _is_ the long lost prince.

 

But he can't help but wonder. After this, it was all over, what would happen then? Grantaire would be the prince and Enjolras would be left behind.

 

Combeferre would be with Courfeyrac, that was for sure. He knew they couldn't have stayed mad at each other forever and Courfeyrac was excited to see him too but.. He wouldn't be able to stay with them. They had a bond Enjolras would never find with them.

 

Or with anyone else for that matter.

 

But soon Grantaire will have a home, a _real_ home and a title to go with it. He would find his past and unlock all of it. He could have anything. Grantaire will become a miracle news story the whole world will soon hear about, reaching all the way back home or even as far as America. A story the whole world needs to hear about.

 

So where will Enjolras go next? Before he met Grantaire the plan had been simple. He and Combeferre train someone to pretend to be him, they convince Éponine, they get the money, and can go back and help the unfortunate people who they grew up alongside with.

 

The plan wasn't for them to find the real prince. It wasn't to befriend him. It wasn't for Combeferre to find love once again with Courfeyrac. And it definitely wasn't for Enjolras to fall in love with Grantaire.

 

He stopped pacing. Time felt like it froze around him.

 

 

"Oh god," Enjolras whispered, his hand running through his hair. He's _in love_ with Grantaire. He should have expected it, he has been for a while it's hard to ignore now. Yet it's terrifying to admit it. They'd almost kissed that night— but he couldn't. They can't. Grantaire is royalty and Enjolras is...

 

 

He closes his eyes.

 

 

When Grantaire walks out of that room he'll have everything. They had said their goodbyes. After months of knowing each other and spending nearly every minute together... it will all be gone.

 

 

Would they ever cross paths once more after this? Like at that damned parade when Grantaire was just eight and Enjolras, ten? A random moment of fate, against all odds, to run into one another yet again.

 

He had everything to win. Nothing can go wrong. But the one thing Enjolras wants more than anything, he'll lose.

 

He loses Grantaire.

 

 

" _Goddamnit_ , I love him," he whispers shaking his head.

 

 

Yet it should be noted that realizations such as these most often arrive just a moment too late.

 

 

He hears the door slam open and his head shoots up with a smile, expecting to see Grantaire's grinning face. _Now's the time._ Grantaire has officially found his family, found his life, his past and future.

 

Enjolras faltered. Instead, the familiar blue eyes were glaring at him, a look so much darker than he's ever seen or imagined before.

 

 

" _Fuck you_ ," his voice seethed with resentment as he stormed passed a clueless Enjolras.

 

 

He stands there, unmoving, watching as Grantaire walks away.The blond suddenly feels a wave of coldness wash over him and he thinks he feels his hands begin to shake. His mind is foggy, like he's underwater and the world stands frozen around him. Of course this would happen, of course it would happen and of course it would happen now. He should have expected this. This lie was built on a foundation with the sole purpose being to fall apart in the end.

 

He knew, from the beginning,it was doomed to end like this. From the moment Combeferre gave him _that look_ and Enjolras faltered. It was wrong, it was so wrong, but then it became real. Somewhere along the way Grantaire was truly the Lost Prince and Enjolras fell in love; something he never thought would even be possible.

 

Courfeyrac used to tease him, at first when Enjolras began to warm up to his two friends; he would laugh at the blond and tell him fondly, _'whoever is worthy enough of your love better have absolutely no patience for all the shit you try to pull_.' The three boys would laugh and continue on, one conversation topic to the next. But Enjolras never forgot. Because here was R, here was Grantaire who never failed to call Enjolras out for his shit and made a point to always be realistic where Enjolras often veered off track. But now he was gone and he was gone because of Enjolras; and it was no one's fault but his.

 

Except _how dare_ Eponine. How dare she ruin this for Grantaire— for R.

 

Enjolras can't feel sorry for himself, he won't feel sorry for himself. His lost friendship with Grantaire is nothing but his own fault but damn him if he lets Eponine ruin this for Grantaire. R is the prince and there is absolutely no doubt about it.

 

He doesn't think -- he was always known for being a little headstrong-- and he barges through the door.

 

Three things happen in a fraction of a second.

 

One. The first thing he sees is Cosette, Marius, and Courfeyrac on a small couch. Courfeyrac's head shoots up at the noise and his eyes are wide when he sees the blond. Cosette frowns and opens her mouth, surely to yell at him, but he walks quickly passed all three of them to the main balcony.

 

Two. There he sees a younger boy who he doesn't recognize in a seat, and next to him, he assumes, is Eponine. She looked calm as she looked out the balcony, and somehow that made Enjolras angrier.

 

The rich, the famous, the powerful Eponine.

 

And three. Eponine had the power to ruin the rest of his life with just one word, yet Enjolras couldn't find it within himself to greet her with any sort of respect, (Combeferre always said he never did well in the presence of royalty).

 

Eponine turns to face him, she looks surprised and almost scared for a moment until her face falls flat. She looks unimpressed.

 

"Are you Grantaire too?" her voice is dry and scratchy, tired is the only way to describe it perfectly. She's bored. Enjolras’ hands are still shaking.

 

"I know you know who the hell I am," he's surprised that his voice is so calm, but he can hear the anger in it. Somewhere behind him he hears Courfeyrac wince, surely to warn him against speaking so disrespectfully. Yet Eponine holds up one hand and Courfeyrac falls silent (Enjolras thinks, faintly, that that would have been a wonderful power to have for back when Courfeyrac lived with them in Petersburg).

 

"Nice to finally meet you, Enjolras," she stands and holds out her hand, only to frown when he didn't make any move to grab it. She crossed her arms. "You know I heard about you before, not just from Courf, here. No, you see, I heard all about your plan. Your plan to train some poor boy to become the Prince-- train some poor boy to lie to me and get your dirty reward." Enjolras does not move as she presses forward, finger pointed at him accusingly.

 

"I will not be tricked anymore! I will not stand for this! I'm finished with seeing anyone else and I will _never_ meet with that boy who claims to be him or anyone of the others." She's breathing harshly, and Enjolras can see her eyes begin to water. They're about the same height, him only a little taller, yet he knows he’s the one who should feel intimidated. He doesn't, instead he steps forward. She steps back. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Say what you will about me, I cannot lie and tell you I care at this point. But that boy who you just sent away is Grantaire, you can ask Combeferre, you can ask Cosette, you can ask Marius, or your most trusted Courfeyrac. You could ask the guard from Petersburg who tried to kill us for having the prince. You could ask the poet on the train who was murdered yet didn’t tell a single one of the guards we were there. You could ask the three strangers we met on our way who immediately recognized Grantaire and wished him luck—”

 

“I don’t think you understand—” Éponine sounded desperate, shaking her head. She turns to leave, to walk passed him but Enjolras lightly grabs her arm. She looks to her arm with surprise before glaring darkly at the blond. He dropped his grip.

 

“—No, I _do_ understand. This is the one thing I understand just fine. I won’t deny it, what you said is true; at first, we did have a plan like that. But over time the similarities became too much, the memories in his head were too real. He knew things no one else did. You want to find your beloved Grantaire? Well we have him. He’s alive and we have him, so we brought him to you and you just let him go. You lost him and this time you can’t blame anyone but yourself.”

 

“You are just _asking_ to be arrested,” her eyes are wide and angry.

 

“Go ahead and try, Miss.”

 

She steps back, her head held high and her expression once again turns to look more composed. Enjolras, truthfully, can’t feel fear in this moment. Maybe it’s adrenaline, maybe it’s just his anger. But he stares at Éponine and his gaze doesn’t waver. When she doesn’t say anything her turns to walk away, passing by where Cosette, Courfeyrac, and Marius sit, dumbfounded. In the back of his mind he thinks _the ballet should start again soon, Combeferre will wonder where they are_. His hand reaches the doorknob.

 

“ _Enjolras_ ,” she sounds angry.

 

He stops, but he doesn’t turn around.

 

“I wish we met on better terms, Courfeyrac thinks so highly of you,” she says calmly but Enjolras just opens the door.

 

“If I had known you were so cruel I’d have wished we never had to meet at all,” and with that, Enjolras is out the door. But when the door closes behind him, all sureness is lost. He was still angry, fuming even, but not enough to mask his anxiety. _Where did Grantaire go? Is he safe?_

 

He feels his eyes begin to water, every emotion coming back to him all at once, hitting him like a storm. He doesn’t tell Combeferre where he’s going when he walks outside the theater. All Enjolras knows is that their plan is officially done. Éponine will surely arrest him, Grantaire will never speak to him, and Combeferre will go off to be with Courfeyrac.

 

Their journey ends here, he knows. It was always meant to end here, it was never going to work out like he foolishly wished it would. Grantaire would leave him anyways, whether Éponine saw him or not. He realized halfway through that Combeferre would never go back with him to Petersburg, he has a life here now. Of course everything went wrong, of course nothing went to plan. Everything that was supposed to happen, simply didn’t. So Enjolras wanders aimlessly through the streets of Paris alone at night, head hung low and for the first time of his life, completely unsure of himself.

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grantaire realizes, a bit disappointedly, that he can't make that much of a grand departure if he has no idea where to go. He only has one bag in the hotel room which meant he packed quickly and all that was left to do was leave. But where was he even leaving _to_?

He can't go back to Petersburg, the only reason he was able to leave was because of Enjolras and Combeferre but even then they just barely made it. He could go to the outskirts of Paris, find Joly, Bousset, and Musichetta and stay with them while he starts a new life. Yet, of course, there was that third option in the back of his mind. That third option where he stays. He can stay here, in Paris, with Combeferre and Enjolras-- except that option isn't even a consideration, no, it's not even on the table. That option left when he walked through those balcony doors. When Courfeyrac had stopped suddenly, holding Grantaire behind him.

Éponine hadn't even turned around, she didn't even look at him while she spoke. Her words were sharp and cutting yet tired. The exhaustion radiating off of her slumped shoulders. She spoke simply, unaware of the way everything Grantaire had known, from the past year of his life, was completely falling to pieces around him.

Was _any_ of it real?

No, no it wasn't. And it was foolish to ever think it was. He should have known. He should have _fucking_ known because _of course_ there was a reward. Of course the only reason Enj and Ferre put themselves in this position was to help themselves— not some homeless kid with no memory of his past. He's an idiot. He's such an idiot to think, even for a moment, that they actually cared about him and wanted to help him. They took advantage of him because he was so goddamn easy, it would have been less obvious to be wearing a glowing sign that said ' _hey I'm an idiot who doesn't remember half of my lifetime, please take advantage of this fact and use me to get a lot of money_.'

It was humiliating and it hurt like nothing he's ever felt before.

You see if it was anyone else, _anyone_ in the world doing this it would not have killed him so much to hear Éponine tell him. To hear Éponine laugh coldly and say "didn't your Enjolras tell you? He would be getting a very large reward if he found Grantaire, that's the only reason any of _them_ try." And that, that was the moment he was torn apart. The moment his face grew hot with embarrassment and his fists clenched. The moment he tore his arm out of Courfeyrac's grip and all but ran out the door. Towards Enjolras' stupid, (what he'd usually consider, kind of adorable) smiling face. Towards a boy he was stupid enough to listen to and stupid enough to grow close to. To a boy who wanted nothing of him but to lie and use him to cheat his way to some money. It made him feel sick.

He closes his bag suddenly, blinking back the tears in his watering eyes. He will not cry. He won't give them the satisfaction of hurting him, of lying to him about everything. He trusted them, he trusted them with _so much_ and none of it was real.

He hears a knock on the door and instead of sadness all he feels is anger. He looks up and stares at the wall in front of him. They really think they can just come back here, after _all_ that. As if he even _wants_ to see them.

"I don't want to see either of you ever again, come back later when I'm gone," he yells at the door and shuts his eyes. He expects silence, for them to leave because they _never_ really cared about him anyways, it's always easy to leave behind what you don't care about. Except he hears the large door creak open slowly, as if hesitating. He scowls and glares at the door.

But it's not Combeferre. It's not Enjolras. He falters. The words die in his throat.

"Your blond friend can be rather scary," Éponine says simply as she walks in the hotel room.

Up close, Grantaire realizes, she looks exactly how he remembered. If any of the 'memories' were real to begin with. She was familiar in a way that makes him feel a strong wave of déjà vu. He's shaking his head but can't bring himself to say anything. She made it clear, she wanted nothing to do with him, she doesn't believe him, it was all a lie. So why the hell is she here now?

"Although I should have expected that, Courfeyrac told me so much about that boy," she continued before sitting herself on a chair, she looks up at him with a bored expression, "he's a complete idiot, but he's brave. 'Brought me back to you after all. The question, however, is whether or not _you_ are a complete waste of time."

Grantaire frowned at that, finally regaining the ability to speak, "why are you here?" She leaned forward, as if studying him for a moment.

"You see, I'm tired of this. I'm tired of pretending, I'm tired of being lied to everyday for the past eight years of my life just as you, surely, want to go home back to whatever identity you had-- your identity before they convinced you to pretend to be Grantaire," she stands up now, and it seems restless; the way her fingers move and twirl around each other anxiously, the way she taps her foot and looks around the room before making eye contact again, "I'm here because some friends of mine are fond of your friends, _god knows why_ \- they're complete idiots who obviously no nothing about all this. So prove it, prove to me you're Grantaire and once you fail, we can both get on with our depressing lives."

"You're so much different from how I remember," Grantaire finally says faintly, "and how _dare you_ talk about Enjolras and Combeferre that way." Grantaire may hate them but _goddamnit_ he's the _only_ one who can talk shit about them. But he just doesn't understand what's happening. Everything he knows about Éponine, the things that felt like memories, in none of them was she acting like this. Not once did he remember her with such cruelty, with such dismissal.

"Oh really, you 'remember' me, do you? Then tell me, _tell me_ what you 'remember' so then I can finally leave this dirty hotel room—"

"Do you even hear yourself right now? You never cared for riches, what the hell have you turned into?"

"You trained for this I _know_ you have! They _all_ do! So go on and prove it; you're the real deal aren't you? That's what everyone keeps telling me! What in the world makes _you_ the special one. How good of an actor are you, then? To get everyone to go along with this charade. Show me—"

"— I don't _owe_ you any explanation. Not while you're acting like this! You let yourself become a monster. Why can't you see what's happening? Why can't you hear the words coming out of your mouth—"

"—that you are the Prince everyone thinks you are! I don't want to be here one more second, because as soon as I leave I can leave this stupid Grantaire business behind. I'm done pretending so hurry up and—"

"Then _leave_ ," Grantaire cuts her off, voice hoarse as he looked at her with wide eyes, an incredulous expression on his face. She stopped talking then and instead looked at him in surprise. "Maybe I am Grantaire and maybe I'm not; but I won't sit here and explain anything to you because even if I was, I don't _want_ this to be real. I don't want to realize who I am only to watch in horror at what my best friend has become. Do you realize how you're acting? How much the Grantaire disappearance changed you? This isn't good for you... So please just leave and we can both move on from being lied to."

She's thinking hard, he can tell. She's frowning as she stares at him, watching him as if waiting for him to say more, waiting for him to back down or even apologize. He didn't. They waited in complete silence, the atmosphere in the hotel room suffocating. She half turned back to the door before sparing Grantaire one last look, her eyes met his before they moved slightly down, focusing just below his neck. Earlier, he had changed out of his suit into his normal clothes as soon as he reached the hotel room. The suit felt fake and _wrong_ , he felt like a fool wearing it. Now, he suddenly became aware of Éponine's elegant clothing juxtaposed to his loosely fitted pants and thin shirt. However, he soon realized Éponine was not looking at his clothing but rather, the hint of a scar peaking out from his loose collar.

His scar. He never learnt how he got it, it was large and ugly and covered most of his shoulder and just barely creeped to his neck. When he woke up, long ago, surrounded by nurses' worried faces, his shoulder was newly bandaged. His head had been throbbing and nothing made sense. That moment had been his earliest memory and he could never, for the life of him, bring himself to remember how he got the wound. He wondered for years what happened. As a child, he hoped that his family sent him to the nurses and would soon come back for him, no one ever came to collect him. As he grew older, he grew resentful with himself, wishing he could remember more and hoping desperately that he could remember any hint of a family in his life. Nothing ever changed as he aged. He had realized that he had no true family, no one was coming back for him; he had realized he would never be able remember the 'incident' or anything before it. He had convinced himself it was all his fault and the scar was simply a reminder of the way Grantaire ruined his own life. The final imprint of his past before he was torn away from it.

Éponine just stared and when she met his eyes once more, the deliberate attempt she had been making to not show any emotion was breaking away. She looked scared, somewhat, as she stared at him with wide eyes, like she had a million questions but didn't want to ask, fearful of the answer. Her face had been so tired and full of anger before, yet he could swear... he could swear he's seen that exact expression before.

And Grantaire is suddenly hit with a dizzying sensation, he stumbles back and puts a hand on a nearby chair to steady himself. His eyes are trained on the floor, blinking back the darkness closing in on his vision. He can't find it in himself to breathe because it all hit him at once. He hears shattered glass but when he looks up at the noise he can't see anything visibly broken in the room. He hears screams and gunshots he can't fucking breathe.

_'The Bolsheviks are attacking!'  a man screamed out._

He closes his eyes and puts a hand to his head, attempting to block his ears but he still hears it. He hears a train accompanying yelling. He hears it get louder and louder and he hears a voice calling to him. It's Éponine. It was Éponine. She's small and scared as she watches from the train. He had reached his hand, fingertips barely grazing the metal bars before... before he was shot.

His hand reaches up and lightly touches his shoulder, his scar. _The scar from a bullet wound._

Now, he meets Éponine's eyes and they're wide, looking at him with worry. He knows that expression. He knows that face. She doesn't say anything when Grantaire reaches for his packed back, he moves around some of his things until his hands find the cool metal he's looking for. He takes a deep breath.

"You said-- you said if I came here, I'd find you," Grantaire stutters as he fumbles and opens the music box. When Enjolras first gave it to him, he was reminded of dancers and ball gowns alike. A large ballroom filled with happiness and drunken laughter. He hadn't touched it since then, afraid of what memories it would bring him. Afraid that if he listened and remembered then everything would change. Yet now, he feels nothing but calm as the melody begins to play. "I remember everything, 'Ponine, I remember all of it."

He hears her take a shaky breath and looks up to see that her eyes are watering, watching the music box in awe.

"It's really you," she sniffs, "Grantaire, oh my god." And before he can respond she throws herself into his arms, holding him tightly as she begins to sob into his shoulder. He holds her with his eyes shut tightly. For the first time in his life, he felt at home. Like this was where he was meant to be. Éponine was mumbling rushed apologies all at once that Grantaire was barely able to make out.

"I take back what I said about that dumb blond guy and Courf," she let out a watery laugh and finally pulled away, "I'm just glad you're here." 

He felt overwhelmed yet, underneath the excitement, he felt nothing but calm and content. He was finally where he was always supposed to be. He finally found his best friend and somehow, his memories were returning slowly. Yet in the back of his mind he felt it, the  constant nagging, wondering where Enjolras and Combeferre were, wondering if they'd apologize, wondering if perhaps there was a chance that he got it all wrong. But he knew it was all just hope in the end. He will _never_ see them again.  He should feel happier, shouldn't he? Shouldn't he be glad he'll never have to see them again? He has his best friend now. He found her.

"I always knew you were alive," her voice brought him back to reality and he laughed with her. He was home now. He knows who he is. He couldn't feel anything other than relief. But, it was always there, the constant feeling that nothing was truly over just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I went through a lot of edits and combined chapters to make them longer rather than a million short ones! If you've read this far so far don't worry! Nothing has been changed yet and this is where you left off, no need to go back searching
> 
>  
> 
> this story is almost done :’)


	10. chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ”You used to paint," Éponine says from where she's stretched upon a chair in the corner of the room, "do you still paint?"

"I hope you realize I can't actually take you with me to the press conference?" Courfeyrac gave Combeferre a dry look but looked as if he was struggling not to smile. Combeferre raised his eyebrows, amused.

 

"What, you don't think I can handle it?" They're walking down a long hallway, Éponine giving them the news just the night before of what to release to the public. It had all happened so quickly, one night Combeferre was sitting anxiously watching a ballet and the next he was hand-in-hand with Courfeyrac waiting to tell the public about the lost Prince Grantaire. When he heard the news he had only felt relief; however, when he stepped into the hotel room that night to see Grantaire's things packed and Enjolras sitting on the bed, eyes red and staring into space, he had felt something cold wash over him. Was it disappointment or reality that it didn't work out for them, he would never know and wasn't sure if he wished to find out.

 

"No, I'm afraid you'll love it a little too much and completely take over my job," Courfeyrac responds with a laugh when Combeferre mock frowns at that and pinches his side.

 

"I would never do such a thing," he pouts and he is suddenly hit with a realization. He felt a calm around Courfeyrac he never felt around anyone else before. Enjolras was his brother, he'd kill and die for him in a heartbeat. But this man, this man standing right in front of him in his brown suit and curly hair and face full of freckles, that man was his. Combeferre could feel he was smiling faintly, by instinct, just by being in the presence of the man before him.

 

A boy, who Combeferre quickly realized to be Éponine's younger brother, steps into the hallway. He looks at Courfeyrac and snaps his fingers to get the man's attention. He was small, only barely up to Combeferre's waist, but he had an aura about him that created a sense of weariness that could almost be translated to fear. The boy knew what he was doing, the boy was not afraid, his size affected nothing.

 

Courfeyrac looked down at Gavroche with raised eyebrows, an expectant look, an amused one, not one of annoyance or superiority. It was interesting to watch, to watch how Courfeyrac interacts with this whole other strange world that Combeferre didn't understand. It was evident in the expense of his clothes, it was evident in his straight posture rather than the slouched one he used to have for years, it was evident in the politeness his voice took on when speaking to any stranger. Paris changes you, Combeferre realizes, a hint of a smile on his lips.

 

"'Ponine wants you to go out now, she said she'll be late and wants you to make sure they don't leave," Gavroche says and his tone is almost bored. It was comical almost, how a young boy seemed that much more mature than Courfeyrac has ever acted in his life.

 

Courfeyrac nodded and Gavroche left without giving him a chance to respond. He shakes his head as he watches him go and turns to Combeferre. "I changed my mind, come with me. I can't bear to handle this crowd of animals all on my own." Combeferre laughs and opens his mouth to protest before, to his surprise, Courfeyrac actually grabs his arm and opens the doors wide, dragging him out into the main room. Despite their bickering, Combeferre thought they both were aware he wasn't to actually attend the press conference, it was far too important to have someone like him even attempt to navigate through. Yet Courfeyrac dragged him in and yet again, Combeferre was helpless to do nothing but to follow the man's lead.

 

Combeferre can do nothing but be pulled by Courfeyrac and look around in awe. There are so many reporters here that he would never even be able to count. As soon as they stepped into the room, the once calm and quiet atmosphere went down the drain, the people were jumping and shouting, shoving their way through other reporters to come closer to them. Every voice overlapped with one another and Combeferre could only feel overwhelmed.

 

He could pick out only a few questions from all the noise. _'Did he live in Paris this whole time?' 'How did he escape the attack?' 'How do you know he is not an imposter like the rest?_ ' And of course the question on everyone's mind: ' _is it true Prince Grantaire has been found alive?"_

 

Courfeyrac ignored all of them as he moved to the front of the room, his face was blank in a way Combeferre has never seen before. It was a professional expression, one that didn't show his trademarked amused smile or the humor in his eyes. Once he reached the front, he dropped Combeferres hand and raised his own hand. In just a moment, the crowd was silenced completely. Combeferre stared and felt as if he was somehow falling more and more in love with him by the second. It was a good feeling. A warm one.

 

"Good evening, reporters," Courfeyrac began, his voice loud and echoing off the walls, "I am Count Courfeyrac joined with my dear friend Combeferre—" they're more than friends, Combeferre knows this, but they're also a scandal just waiting to happen "— Miss Éponine had just told me she will be a little late, but don't panic as she will certainty attend soon. I beg that you keep your patience as we wait for her arrival." His speech is formal and so different from how he usually speaks that Combeferre blinks in surprise for a moment. The silence that followed his speech soon erupted into chaos, more questions were being yelled from the crowd.

 

"We've heard he's lost his mind!" A call from the crowd silences the rest of the reporters. Eyes widen and they watch Courfeyrac for any reaction.

 

"Not true!" Combeferre cuts in at the same time Courfeyrac says: "I'm not allowed to answer any questions." The latter turns his head to Combeferre sharply, giving him a warning look that is, surprisingly, extremely intimidating coming from a man more than a foot shorter than him. The crowd erupted once more.

 

" _How do we know he's not lying_!" Dumb question.

" _You've had fakes in the past!_ " Yes but none ever came so close.

" _How did he get in contact_!" He was found, he didn't find us.

 _"I heard a lover abandoned him!_ " That was a question saved for another time.

 _"Why did he show up now and not before!"_ He lost all his memories, could you blame him?

 

The questions were left unanswered.

 

Courfeyrac is frowning, eyes darting back and forth between the crowd as each person speaks. It's so overwhelming, but they only press forward, closing in on the two men. It was suffocating and inhumane. The room was not filled with men but rather wild animals, desperate for gossip, desperate for dirt, desperate for drama, desperate for a story. Combeferre puts a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder and they take a step back. He can see Courfeyrac's fists clench at his sides. Near the door, Combeferre sees Bahorel watch worriedly, eyebrows pinched as if unsure whether he should step in.

 

" _Enough_!" Courfeyrac yells. His face is flushed, his arms wave out in front of himself as if in an attempt to silence the wild crowd before him.

 

The reporters step back, their faces white. Silence. A cough echoes. Combeferre grins while Courfeyrac takes a few breaths to calm down.

 

"Éponine will be out in a moment." The freckled man grits out before grabbing Combeferre by his sleeve and all but tugging him back to the hallway. The doors close with a loud bang but Courfeyrac doesn't startle.

 

"I hate my job."

 

"You don't."

 

"I don't," he sighs, "Éponine better be here soon."

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

"You used to paint," Éponine says from where she's stretched upon a chair in the corner of the room, "do you still paint?"

 

"I was nine," Grantaire frowns at her, but she only raises her eyebrows, "right, uh no. You couldn't really.. afford anything to even draw with." He lets out a humorless laugh. "Communism doesn't support the arts I guess."

 

Their conversations keep coming back to, ultimately, the same exact thing. Éponine asks him desperate questions, Grantaire gives her his truthful answer. She's disappointed when she realizes the life of a poor homeless kid hadn't catered to his old life of being the Prince. It was routine. It was torture. Grantaire knew, realistically, he wouldn't be the same person as he was when he lost his memory. Yet it still hurt, every time she told him about something he used to do, something he couldn't do now. He was different, he knew he would have been different either way. But it still creates the feeling of doubt, the feeling that maybe he isn't Grantaire after all.

 

But now they're just playing the waiting game. In just a few minutes, they'll attend the press conference and everything will go public. The world will go mad with the news, surely. A spark of hope will rise within the people of Petersburg. The Lost Prince found alive, despite all odds. Grantaire never considered himself lucky, he never thought he'd be where he is now. Sitting on lush chairs in a far too fancy room, waiting to go face the world with the best friend he hadn't seen in too long.

 

Grantaire doesn't think he's ever felt so nervous. He had everything now, everything worth having. He had a friend, a piece of his family. He had a window to his past, he knew who he was. Like a puzzle the pieces kept falling perfectly into place around him.

 

He felt, in the back of his mind, that there was just one piece missing, in the center of it all. He didn't know what it was and it worried him.

 

"You look so much different when you're dressed in real clothes," Éponine smiles as she stands up to straighten Grantaire's jacket. He huffs out a weak laugh at that.

 

"Yeah well I've been told the whole homeless look looks great on me," he grins, thinking back, for a fleeting moment, to when he lived with Enjolras and Combeferre.

 

He tried not to think about it. Any time a memory came to him he'd just push it away. After living an entire life time searching desperately for his memories he found himself currently wishing half of them to be buried away. It was bittersweet, fondness creeping into his being before he is reminded, yet again, of what they tried to do to him. They tried to hurt him... and they succeeded, he supposed.

 

But the memory still surfaced and it pained him. One night at the palace, it was dark save for one or two candles in the room. Combeferre was squinting at his book while Enjolras was slowly falling asleep on the floor. They had studied a lot that day, memorizing more and more about the history of Grantaire's family— of R's family. Combeferre had laughed suddenly, looking at R in a strange way. R had only raised his eyebrows until Ferre started speaking.

 

"I just realized need to find you better clothes at some point, you look like you sleep in the sewers every night," he had ignored R's comment of 'I kind of did' before continuing, "I don't think Éponine would even let you see her looking like that." It wasn't rude, it was friendly banter, he had realized, because they were friends. R had friends.

 

But then Enjolras had looked up from where he was lying on the floor, eyes blinking blearily to focus on R before shrugging and closing his eyes again, "I dunno, he still looks good."

 

That was months ago but when he though about it, it still made his heart race.

 

Grantaire took a deep breath as Éponine furrowed hew eyebrows. "Are you okay?" She asked quietly, voice unsure. He just nodded. She sighed, giving him a reassuring smile briefly before turned around to fix her hair in a nearby mirror. Her hands ran through knotted strands before she stopped. Her hands stopped and her gaze was unmoving as she looked into the mirror. Grantaire could see her blink once, twice. He counted seven seconds before she spoke.

 

"I take back what I said about your blond friend, Enjolras," she said, "he's pure at heart, I can see that now."

 

Grantaire froze, he can't find it in himself to move, to speak. He wants to yell, to scream at her. He wants to ask her _what the hell do you mean? He took advantage of you, of me! He's cruel, he's so cruel_. He wanted to know what she knew. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to make her apologize and take it back. To make her understand. But he knows he can't change her mind, he can't make her believe something that he himself cannot grasp. Deep down, he hoped that her next words might be true, that maybe after all, he is the good man he thought he knew.

 

"He's cruel," Grantaire manages to whisper, for a moment he thinks Éponine hasn't heard him, until she turns around. Her expression is one of confusion, of surprise.

 

"He cares about you," it's a statement but it sounds like a question, like she's beginning to doubt herself.

 

"He cares about The Prince and the reward, not me." And that makes Éponine realize something, he can see it. Her chin tilts upwards and she glances to the side, she's thinking. Lips pressed into a thin line, she takes a deep breath before meeting his eyes again.

 

"Grantaire... he refused the reward." She stared at him, frowning, as if he should know this. As if he should know anything.

 

Suddenly everything felt wrong. His chest was too tight, the room to bright, not enough air in the world. Nothing made sense, nothing made any fucking sense. Everything was final before, Enjolras and Combeferre were assholes, Grantaire never had to see them again. The end. But all it took was one sentence to set the train off its rails. It took just one sentence to make him question everything.

 

"The _fuck_ you mean he refused the reward?" His voice sounds so broken he cringes at the sound.

 

"Combeferre took me to him this morning," she tilts her head, a hint of a smile on her lips, "I offered him the reward, even doubled it, and he outright refused. I asked him why, of course, but he simply said it wasn't important to him anymore. He said there are much more important things in the world, now. I didn't understand his answer... but now I think I do." A pause. "I approve of him."

 

"'Ponine, what the fuck do you mean," his mind was reeling. Surprise! Your friends weren't assholes all along! Although you have no idea what made them change and it's scary to think about. Grantaire shook his head repeatedly

 

"I approve of him," she repeated simply, the look on her face was fond," Grantaire, if you want to go with him, I won't stop you."

 

And that was it. That was what this was all about, that was what this all came down to. Grantaire's eyes darted to the door. The door that leads to the hallway, and the hallway leading to the press conference.

 

Is he really ready for this? He was born into this lifestyle, he was born into an unfair world in which he had all the luck in it. Until one day it all changed. He's gone half of his life poor and alone, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a low paying job to keep him alive. Maybe he was born into a royal life, but he and Éponine only continued to disprove his current connection to it. R was Grantaire, they both knew it. Ten years on the streets of Petersburg changes you, and Grantaire was not the same person as he was so long ago. He's had a taste of wealth and half a lifetime worth of poverty.

 

The obvious choice should be wealth, shouldn't it be? The obvious choice is that he should walk out those doors, smile for the press, and become the biggest news story in the world. The symbol of hope. Except, it would only last a second. Maybe he would spark hope in the people back home in Petersburg, but it will just as well bring more suffering. His father was a good man at heart, he's sure of it, but truthfully he was only so good to his family, wasn't he? Grantaire is not fit to lead, he was never meant to.

 

If the world knew Grantaire was alive, it would lead to chaos, putting them into a worse position than before. He knew it, and something told him Éponine knew it too.

 

But it wasn't just about the world, as selfish as that sounds. Yes, Grantaire had been alone for the second half of his life, but in the last year he found something so much more important. He found friends. He found a family. He felt safe and loved, he didn't need palaces or fancy hotel rooms, he needed them. They were his home. Enjolras, Combeferre, and everyone he met along the way. The palace was never his home, the people were.

 

_There are much more important things in the world, now._

 

He could feel his eyes watering. He supposed this was the last puzzle piece.

 

"'Ponine, I can't—"

 

"I know," she's smiling softly, nodding her head at him, "I've had you with me for the past day, every time you speak I come to the same conclusion each time. You love the life you have, not that one," she points out the doors. It's silent when she pauses, like she is choosing her next words carefully.

 

"Grantaire, you should go live your life. I haven't moved in ten years, I'll always be here. You can visit me everyday if you want," she lets out a watery laugh, "we can be together in Paris without completely turning your life around, without turning your future into something you don't want."

 

He threw his arms around her, laughing quietly into her shoulder. He felt safe, for the first time in his life he felt so utterly safe and happy. 

 

"What are you going to tell the press?" He breaks away, arms still on her shoulders. She just smiles.

 

"That doesn't concern you," she pointed a finger at him, "You'll see. Just promise me you'll visit as often as possible."

 

"I can't see myself leaving this beautiful city."

 

"Good," she nods seriously and pushes him lightly, "go be with Enjolras."

 

Grantaire just laughs, confused, "why him?"

 

And then Éponine's smile falters, she tilts her head, frowning at him. Her eyes narrow for a moment and Grantaire feels scrutinized.

 

"Grantaire... what is Enjolras to you?" She asks quietly, and her tone is strange, he can't quite place it. He has no idea what the hell is happening. Why is she suddenly questioning him about this? They're already late to the press conference and Éponine needs to come up with a cover story surely—

 

"He's one of my best friends," Grantaire says simply and Éponine huffs out a small laugh, shaking her head, bewildered.

 

"I'm gonna go out and sort the press, meet with me tomorrow because god knows I'm curious to what happens to you tonight," she walks to the door and at the last second, turns to face him, "Think hard about it. Grantaire, I've spent mere seconds speaking to that man and I know you are not just a friend to him."

 

Then she's gone, the door shuts quietly.

 

He stares at the door, repeating what she said in his mind. You are not just a friend to him. What the fuck does that mean? What _the fuck_ does that _mean_?

 

He should be happy. Did he not feel relief just moments before? But with relief, unfortunately, it does not necessarily bring along happiness. Éponine is letting him leave, she's letting him live his life!

 

But he felt it. He knew it.

 

It was not a sudden realization. It was not met with panic or confusion. It was admittance. It was giving it a name. Acceptance. Comfort.

 

He's in love with Enjolras.

 

The moment he saw him he had been met with complete and utter beauty. The only mortal man who could possible be as bright as Apollo and as radiant as Adonis. Yet it hadn't been that. It hadn't been that at all.

 

It was the yelling matches, the bickering. Enjolras' puns from when he was half awake and too tired to stop himself. The way he kept quiet and watched others before he himself would speak. The way Enjolras would talk about his friends with nothing but fondness and love. How he would get distracted easily because his mind works a mile a minute.

 

He is very much in love with Enjolras.

 

Grantaire smiled at nothing, he was going to go find him right now.

 

He turned around to walk out the door but froze completely. His body went cold, the blood drained from his face. He shakes his head once. Twice. A third time.

 

Because General Montparnasse is blocking the doorway in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very long, my bad 
> 
> One more chapter left! ❤️
> 
> (Sorry for so many updates! I’ve been editing a little bit. If you’re confused about when anything was updated you can just check the dates of each chapter as they should have all been left the same, thank you)


	11. chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How the hell are you here?" Grantaire hadn't realized he had spoken until he already finished.

"How _the hell_ are you here?" Grantaire hadn't realized he had spoken until he already finished. How strange it was, the feeling of coldness sinking into his bones. The sudden crash of emotion. The pure fear he felt when staring into Montaparnasse's dark eyes. He was certain the man could sense it, with the way his lips curled into a small smile.

 

Grantaire could see the man's hand on his right side. He swallowed hard. He has a gun, doesn't he. He was going to kill Grantaire.

 

"At first, orders," Montparnasse stepped forward, he was still all the way across the room from Grantaire but he still found himself stepping back, "but now, determination."

 

"Determination for _what_?" It comes out as a whisper.

 

Grantaire felt dumb for the real reason he was so angry. Because wasn't that Montparnasse had found him so soon. He wasn't particularly angry that he would certainly die today. He was mad that he finally found everything he wanted. He found his past. He found his family. He found Éponine and Combeferre. He found Enjolras.

 

He found _himself_.

 

After years of searching, he finally understood who he was. He was a Prince, but he was also a commoner. He wasn't supposed to die as soon as he figured himself out damnit. What did life have against him. Someone has been wanting Grantaire dead his whole life and he is absolutely tired of it. He is tired of being afraid. He's tired of existing in his life only to worry about it constantly. Funny, how the only constant that is in his life seems to be the looming threat of death.

 

"It is in both my destiny and my orders to end the Grantaire line once and for all," he steps forward again. Grantaire doesn't move. "You heard the story, I've told you, and I said it so carefully too. It was a warning... I was so _kind_ as to warn you." He had the audacity to sound sad about it, as if he hadn't had a gun in the pocket of his pants. As if he wasn't going to kill Grantaire the first chance he gets. He's been following him for so long and he never even noticed. He left the country, he was out of their hair. Montparnasse shouldn't have been given orders to waste time following suspected criminals. He wonders, briefly, if Enjolras and Combeferre betrayed him but quickly shuts down the thought. They're his friends, they wouldn't do that. Right? He shakes his head. He's getting off track and he needs to _focus_ , damnit.

 

"You let me go _twice_ ," Grantaire's voice breaks. He ignores it. "You let me go and I've been out of your way since then. We've done nothing."

 

He says _we_ on instinct. For a moment, he is unsure as to who he means. Maybe he means him, Enjolras. and Combeferre. The trio who originally angered the general. But maybe he means Éponine too, Courfeyrac, Cosette, Gavroche, Feuilly, Bahorel, and everyone else along the way. He means Jehan, the poet who died on the train. He means Joly, Bousset, and Musichetta, the kind strangers who encouraged him right when he was on the brink of giving up. They're so innocent and their such _good_ people. Grantaire had never seen so much humanity in the world until he began exploring it. They're _innocent_.

 

"Before, maybe. But not now," his face is angry and cold, but Grantaire can see it in his eyes. He looks sad, "Answer me this, do you truly believe the world actually wants you to be alive? That they hope you're here and well? You're in Paris for gods sake! You don't even belong here!" He spreads his arms wide, gesturing around the room. He's gone mad, surely.

 

"Yes, _of course_ they want me to have lived," not really, maybe, he doesn't really know. He hasn't thought this far, but sue him for only discovering his identity just a day or two ago. But he did know what it was like to live on the streets of Petersburg. He knew what the poor spoke about, he knew what they did in their free time. He knows what they believe in and want to put their trust in. Months ago, Grantaire was one of those people. "You have _no idea_ what the people want, you don't have a clue—"

 

"The Grantaires took from their people and lived off of their stolen wealth! All they tried to do was ignore us in hopes that we would just go away. They were ruthless, they were not fit to rule. Why can't you understand this!" He can see Montparnasse breathing harshly, eyes wild. He's scared too, Grantaire realizes suddenly. "My father was a good man," his voice is shaking, "he didn't succeed in his plan so I must finish it for him."

 

Grantaire isn't scared anymore. His heart isn't racing. His breaths are slow. He will probably die tonight, but he will stall for as long as he can; yet it's Montparnasse who continues again.

 

"They don't _want_ you alive," Montparnasse quietly. What begins to scare Grantaire is not the words but rather the way he said it. His voice was soft yet strong, he believes what he says. In a strange way, Grantaire feared the possible truth behind it. That maybe the man before him wasn't mad.

 

"How would you know?" He shouldn't have ask that question, he knows, and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to know if it's true. He'd much rather continue to live in bliss (if he could continue living at all after this.)

 

"Grantaire, how do you think I followed you here?" It was a such a broad question that it left Grantaire dumbfounded.

 

"I was told where to look because the one who gave me orders already knew where you were going," Montparnasse finished for him. Grantaire's mind is reeling, he feels faint.

 

"Combeferre? Enjolras?" He questions, shaking his head quickly. Anyone but them, please anyone but them.

 

" _For god sake_ not everything is about that _blond_ _asshole_!" Montparnasse yells and they both freeze at the outburst. "He doesn't love you." Montparnasse continued, his voice barely above a whisper. All Grantaire could think at first was 'how the hell does literally everything know Grantaire's in love with Enjolras before he did.' Then, he frowned at Montparnasse as the words processed in his mind.

 

"Why do you even care?" Grantaire asks quietly. Montparnasse is angry, he could see the veins in his neck and his jaw clenching. His hands are balled at his sides and the look he gives Grantaire is full of venom. Grantaire was certain the man was going to explode.

 

 

"Because I'm _in love_ with you!" He shouts again and Grantaire takes another step back. Ah, that's why he seemed to hate Enjolras.

 

 

"Whatever you feel... it isn't love," his voice is hoarse.

 

"How _dare_ you tell me what I feel! I travelled all this way to find you—"

 

"—To _kill_ me! You traveled this way to _kill_ me! It's obsession, Montparnasse!"

 

"It's my orders!"

 

"From _who_!" Grantaire doesn't want to know the answer, he can't know.

 

 

" _The Thenardiers_!"

 

 

The room falls silent. He shouldn't have asked.

 

"They told my boss, Javert, that you were alive in exchange for money," Montparnasse says and he continues walking towards Grantaire. The latter can't find it within himself to step away. His eyes glossed over as he stares at the floor. The frown stays on his face. "They hated the Grantaires, can't you see it? Your family's closest friends! They hated you. Éponine doesn't even want you alive!"

 

Éponine. His closest friend. It couldn't be. Could it? It was, though. Montparnasse said so himself.

 

But _no_.

 

No _no_ it's not true.

 

He didn't know much, in fact he barely knew anything at all. His own past was a mystery for more than half of his life. He remembered, faintly, that Éponine used to hate her parents, surely she'd never go with their plans.

 

He tried not to dwell on the Thenardiers. Wondering if there was more to it than poor luck fact that Grantaire was the only one who didn't make it on the train the night they left. That the Thenardiers were closer to Grantaire than Éponine had been. The child's strength alone not enough to hold onto him. And the gunshot, who had even shot it? Did the bullet even come from behind? He never got old enough to understand his parents' relationship with them. He wondered, now, just what made them despise him and his family so much.

 

And goddamnit he's spent the last two days of his life doubting his friends and he's so tired of it. He loves them, and he is certain they love him. They're. Good. People. His friends are good. And how dare Montparnasse try to manipulate him with them.

 

Grantaire took a deep breath, hands shaking. Anger clouding his brain.

 

"Leave, Montparnasse, so we can both continue on with our lives." His voice is firm as he glares into Montparnasse's eyes.

 

"Éponine doesn't want you alive and Enjolras doesn't want _you_ , where are you going to go?" Montparnasse gives him a sickening smile. His hand once again falls to his side.  Grantaire's eyes follow the movement and the fear he felt is back. He realizes, suddenly, that it doesn't matter what he says at this point. He's not leaving the room alive.

 

"Why are you doing this," Grantaire whispers, he steps back until he felt his legs hit a chair behind him. He steadies himself on it, all the while staring at Montparnasse. He certainly doesn't feel special so why the hell does life seem to hate him so much? Why him? His eyes are watering again and he rubs at them to just stop.

 

"I can't taint my family legacy, not like my father did his," his eyes are wide with rage, "I don't want to do this!" And that's when he pulled out the gun, its barrel pointed at a Grantaire and his hand steady on its trigger. He let out an incredulous laugh, Grantaire was definitely going to die.

 

" _No one_ knows I'm alive!" Grantaire shouts, he's trying so damn hard not to cry, "you don't have to do it!"

 

"I'll ask you one more time: tell me you're not the prince and we can both leave this room alive!"

 

It sounded simple. But it wasn't. What Grantaire said was true, no one really knew the Prince had lived. It was all just rumors with no one really sure what started it. It was hope that was already falling apart quickly. The people of Petersburg thought it was a hopeless cause. There's no point in believing something you know isn't true.

 

Grantaire could lie right now. He could look Montparnasse in the eyes and tell him 'I'm not Prince Grantaire' and then he could leave. He could leave and he'd be alive. It was so easy. It'd be so damn easy. But he can't find it within himself to do it. He can't get his voice to work and say the words. He can't lie, not after being in the dark for so long. His own past hidden from him to the point where he didn't know his own real name. His life that had been threatened by enemies and friends alike for reasons he never got knew. Maybe it was his pride or maybe it was pure stupidity that caused him to say the next words he chose. But deep down Grantaire knew that he was done lying, he was done hiding from his own past. He doesn't want to be The Prince, but that will never change the fact that he is Grantaire. No one can take that away from him, not anymore.

 

 

" _I am_ the Lost Prince Grantaire, son of Nicholas and Alexandra," his voice is loud and the gun stays pointed at him.

 

 

Montparnasse's hand is shaking. His fingers toying at the trigger. Grantaire stared forward.

 

Time is frozen, a new, suffocating air washes over Grantaire. There is not enough oxygen in the room yet there's too much in it. He was certain his life was about to end. Within his fear there was a sense of calm. He was at peace. Where Montparnasse stood, unsure, Grantaire had never been more calm.

 

Montparnasse drops the gun and it lands on the tiled floor with a noise far too loud for the dead silence of the room around them. Just as quick as it began, Montparnasse himself, crumples to the ground, shoulders shaking violently.

 

Grantaire can’t move. He just watches for a moment, as the man he once feared sobs on the ground. He found it ironic that the most terrifying person at one point in Grantaire's life, was a man who loved too easily, a man who was brought to his breaking point right in front of his own eyes while Grantaire stayed standing.

 

He reaches out a hand, just gently touching Montparnasse's shoulder. He feels bad for him;  how odd it is that he can't even find it within himself to resent the man who had just attempted to kill him. Montparnasse stills under the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. Grantaire draws it away. He doesn't know what to do and has no idea what is happening. It's new territory, he wasn't safe but he wasn't exactly in any immediate danger.

 

"I may regret letting you go for the rest of my life," Montparnasse breaks the silence although Grantaire's blood ran cold at the words, "the things we do for love."

 

If pains Grantaire to see it. Even if the man had been terrible to him, it still hurt. Montparnasse was manipulated his whole life, told that his father brought down shame on their whole family for letting the Prince go. For killing all but one of the royal family. His father had killed himself, leaving behind Montparnasse to carry the weight of all his father's past victories and mistakes on the young man's shoulder. He knew what it felt like though, to be all alone in a suffering world. To have no one but yourself, surrounded by a struggling and changing country.

 

Montparnasse was a man who was not loved but looked down upon his whole life. Manipulated by his own family and driven to complete a lost cause.

 

"You don't love me, Montparnasse," Grantaire says and he tries to keep his voice gentle, " but I sincerely hope that one day you'll find someone who you truly love, and who loves you back." And as Grantaire backed away, he realized he meant it. No one deserves to feel alone. To feel isolated from everyone around you, as if you never truly belonged and never will.

 

Because he knew that feeling all to well; and it had almost destroyed him.

 

"Please leave before I change my mind," Montparnasse's voice filled the silent room. Grantaire stepped back. Once. Twice.

 

Turning around for the final time, he leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He almost surprises himself when he realizes, somehow, he finally feels safe. As if maybe, just _maybe_ , things will soon be okay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The hallway is silent, Grantaire's footsteps echoing loudly on the shining floor.

 

Everything around him feels like a dazed memory. His limbs are moving on autopilot and his eyes are forward. How can someone who had just escaped death feel anything but alive?

 

At the end of the hall, the Prince turns the corner. At the right hallway he sees Éponine conversing with Gavroche, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac. He takes a deep breath and takes the remaining steps towards them.

 

"Grantaire!" Gavroche notices him first, shouting his name with a grin. The boy shouldn't remember the prince, he had been so young when Grantaire disappeared. Yet as soon as they had met, the boy took an instant liking to him.

 

Éponine turns her head, an instant smile on her face. He finds that he missed that. He missed her kind face and welcoming personality. He missed her. He hated, for a moment, that he would have to leave so soon. He found what he was looking for, only to realize he'd have been better off leaving it behind. The world was cruel, he decided, so damn cruel.

 

"What took you so long?" Éponine raised her eyebrows, she was amused rather than angry. Behind her, Grantaire saw the grand double doors and heard the voices shouting behind it. There was a whole crowd out there, waiting to hear any news about the prince. Any news about _him_. They were about to be disappointed greatly.

 

"I was thinking," he lied. His voice is quiet and his gaze doesn't move from the doors.

 

"Well have you finished thinking?" Éponine asks and she knows. She knows his answer. Even Courfeyrac has a knowing look in his eyes and Grantaire is certain Éponine told him too.

 

He could have everything he ever wanted at his call. He would have more money than he had ever obtained in his life. He would have shelter and a family. He would have a title and the history that came with it. His name would be in newspapers, billboards, and textbooks for years to come. The world would know him.

 

And he was throwing it all away, yet still couldn't find it within himself to feel the slightest remorse for it.

 

"I have," Grantaire is smiling.

 

"Well let's not let them wait any longer," she pulls him into a tight hug and it ends as quickly as it starts. She pushes open the doors, the others following quickly behind her. Grantaire stays behind for a moment, catching a glimpse of the crowd on the other side.

 

He could change his mind right now, he could walk with Éponine and let the reporters stare at him. Let them watch and realize that's him. _That's the prince_. He could become history right now if all he does is turn right instead of left. Just the one choice will change the world forever.

 

The prince walks out the door. He turns left to the back of the room.

 

The crowd ignores him, already yelling their questions at Éponine who had stolen their attention. Grantaire can't hear any questions, all of their words are blending in with one another. Éponine is calm as she watches the room, waiting for the noise to die down with her cold stare rather than actually telling them to. The room falls silent when it is clear she won't answer their questions.

 

Grantaire is at the exit now, his hand is on the door handle, but he just watches for a moment. He waits and Éponine takes a deep breath from the front of the room.

 

"You have heard many rumors about the Prince, some from reliable sources and others, nothing but talk on the streets. Today I will hopefully be answering any questions you have about whether or not the Lost Prince has been found," Her voice is loud and echoes off the walls, the crowd watches her in awe. Her eyes brush over the crowd and for a moment, they meet Grantaire's. She smiles, her face softening for a moment, "and I am here to inform you all; from this day forward, there will be no more talk of Grantaire, nor will there be any more rumors of his survival. He has not been found and it is time to move forward—"

 

 

Grantaire opens the door and leaves quietly, a smile on his face and unshed tears in his eyes as he enters the cold streets of Paris.

 

 

 

 

<>

 

 

 

 

 

_'—because Grantaire's alleged survival was nothing but a dream, a wonderful dream, but a dream nonetheless. You all must know that.'_

 

 

 

 

He isn't sure what it is but something draws him in the direction of the bridge. He needs to find Enjolras, figures that the man must be in the place that held so much history about the life Grantaire abandoned just moments before.

 

He didn't abandon his title for Enjolras, and that was important to know. He did it for the Russian people, he did it for himself. Maybe he was a coward who destroyed hope for the sake of peace, but was it not finding peace within loss that could bring a suffering people together? He was born into the life of a prince but grew up like any other boy. That was what's important.

 

 

 

 

_'I love him, we all do; yet we should all move on, rather than dwell on the impossible. The rumors will end from here on, as will the search.'_

 

 

 

 

But Enjolras was always there for him. Grantaire ignored it for so long but from the beginning, it was always him who encouraged him to continue on. He had given up on himself so many times but it was Enjolras who was there at the end of the day talking to him and laughing with him, while Combeferre almost always went to sleep early. He needed a friend and Enjolras provided more than that. He was kind and quiet but so _passionate_ and _loyal_ in a way Grantaire never realized until recent.

 

The streets of Paris are empty and cold.It's still lively, in an odd way. Muted lights from the insides of buildings pool onto the streets and cast a warm but subtle glow. It's welcoming, though, despite the darkness. He hears laughter and music and finds himself smiling faintly as he walks. Paris is beautiful. It's alive. He can't imagine leaving now that he's here. This is where he's meant to be.

 

 

 

 

_'The reward, of course, will instead be donated to charity. I have a strong feeling it is what the Prince would have wanted.'_

 

 

 

 

There was, in fact, a tall figure standing on the bridge and his heart stopped. How strange that he had seen the man only two days before yet still felt like it had been a lifetime ago. The last time he saw him he had yelled at him. A sharp pang of regret ran through his body.

 

Enjolras is standing under a light-post, arms resting against the bridge's railings as he stares at the water below. He looks calm. He looks lonely. He looks _sad_. Grantaire feels a quiet, helpless laugh leave him.

 

"You didn't take the reward, not even when she doubled it," his own voice feels distant. He's not asking nor is he stating; he's pleading. _Please let it be true, please prove me wrong and tell me it's true_. He tries not to flinch at the way Enjolras' shoulders tense up at the sound of his voice. It hurts. 

 

 

 

 

_'Our new order has no need for such fairytales for us to keep our hope. We are strong enough without it, and we will move forward.'_

 

 

 

 

"You believed I was the prince," Grantaire continued, "you never lied to me yet did absolutely nothing as I yelled, as I tore you apart, as I threw away our friendship—"

 

"It's not really friendship, though, is it," Enjolras' voice is strong and cold, "at least it wasn't to me so I'm sorry I made this so _damn difficult_ for you but I'd appreciate it if you could just leave alone for real this time and get it over with." Grantaire looks to the sky and shakes his head. When did it become so hard to talk to him?

 

When Grantaire stopped trusting him. He sighs at the thought.

 

"I'm sorry," he leans on the railing next to him and stares forward, not allowing himself to look at Enjolras. No, he doesn't deserve to look at him.

 

 

 

 

_'Please do not ask me any more questions about him. Please do not continue on with the imposters and the acts.'_

 

 

 

 

"Grantaire—"

 

"R," he corrected and finally, finally, willed himself to look Enjolras in the eyes, "We— I decided to not going public with this, I'm just R, now. You know, the homeless guy who doesn't know his family. I may be the Grantaire but... I'm no prince, not anymore." Enjolras' eyes soften.

 

It's silent and Grantaire is about to walk away when it becomes too much, when he realizes Enjolras won't respond. This is it. He turns around, eyes already watering when a hand shoots out and grabs his arm. He takes a sharp breath.

 

" _Goddamnit_ , you were never just R," Enjolras' laugh sounds strained, "you seem to forget that I fell in love with that homeless guy, not the rich prince. I fell in love with you." He points a finger against Grantaire's chest.

 

Grantaire opens his mouth but can't find the words to speak. "You love me?"

 

 

 

 

_'This does not mean we must forget him, though. This is not a call for ignorance. Still, we shall remember his name, and all of innocents who suffer. All the children who were killed so young. All the families who face the threat of death everyday. I pray for your safety.'_

 

 

 

 

"I thought that was a given," the corners of Enjolras' mouth twitch upward and Grantaire feels nothing but relief flood through him. _He doesn’t hate me, he doesn’t hate me!_

 

"You didn't— you practically ran away when," he couldn't find the right words, "you _bowed_ when I almost kissed you!" Far less eloquent than what he was going for but he couldn't wrap his brain around it. Nothing makes any fucking sense anymore because Enjolras is starting to smile and Grantaire feels himself grinning even though he's 99% sure Enjolras still hates him.

 

"I _panicked_ ," Enjolras shakes his head, huffing but unable to contain his own smile, "I had just found out you were the real Prince what did you expect me to do?! Can you imagine? Imagine never having a childhood crush before and then suddenly falling in love with a _Prince_ who was allegedly killed!"

 

"You idiot," Grantaire was only slightly appalled that his voice held nothing but fondness, but Enjolras is pouting now and how _dare_ he look so adorable. It was unfair, truly.

 

 

 

 

_'Whether Prince Grantaire is alive or not, whether he is lost or in hiding, one thing is for sure...'_

 

 

 

 

"You're calling _me_ an idiot? I don't recall being the one who gave up my royal title because of god knows what reason—" he's panicking, Grantaire can tell. His skin start to get flushed (and damn him for somehow looking even better all flustered) and his eyes seem to be looking everywhere except at Grantaire. He decides that he should probably do something, because damn him if he'd let Enjolras start to panic and run away like last time.

 

Before he can even think about it, Grantaire kisses him.

 

It shuts Enjolras up.

 

He feels warm and complete and happy like he never has before. And Enjolras is kissing him _back_ because somehow this idiot likes him too. He feels like he's _home_.

 

Grantaire had searched for a place to call home for years, roaming on the streets of Leningrad, begging for his memories to come back. Cursing himself for things he didn't know. Wishing for a life he had forgotten. Who would have known that he'd find his past only to leave it behind. Who would have known that his home was not place but a person. Enjolras. _Enjolras_ was his home.

 

"For the record, I lied and you were _totally_ my childhood crush ever since that stupid parade," the blond says as they start to break away when he had started to grin. Grantaire mock groans and rests his forehead on the his shoulder, pretending that doesn’t make him giddy to think about.

 

"Oh my god, you _never_ shut up!" Grantaire complains.

 

"You like it."

 

"I don't!"

 

"You do—"

 

Grantaire grabs his jaw, pulling him forward yet again. He felt too happy to be mad. The joy he was feeling was impossible to compare to anything before. He was no richer than he had been a year ago, no smarter, no better or worse a person. Nothing had changed yet everything had changed. He was alive, he was _happy_.

 

"I love you too, you dork," He laughed. And Grantaire— no, _R_ smiled a true, radiant smile.

 

 

 

 

_'—we will not give hope of a better future, and we will live yet another day, creating the world we want to live in. The darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s done :’)  
> I posted this fic for the first time last year but I’ve been coming up with ideas and writing it for the past 2 
> 
> I love receiving comments, whether it’s full blown paragraphs or two words, it means a lot to me and thank you so much to those who have been leaving comments as I wrote, it inspired me more than anything else❤️
> 
> You can find me on my tumblr where I post about les amis and make les mis art :) 
> 
> https://icarusislost.tumblr.com/


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